
Pass FBlQrO^ 
Book > S 7 . 



X. 



AN 

*6 



ABRIDGMENT 



OF 



Leffiures on Rhetorick. 



BS- 



HUGH BLAIR, D.D. 



RE? IS ED AND CORRECTED. 



PRINTED BY J. T. BUCKINGHAM, 

FOR THOMAS £ff ANDREWS. 
SOLD AT THEIR BOOKSTORE, NO, 4<5, NEWBURY-STRET 



I 



O&ober, 1S05, 



** 



^ .<eA 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



T, 



HE want of a system of Rhetorick upon a concise 
plan, and at an easy price, will, it is presumed, render, 
this little volume acceptable to the publick. To col- 
lect knowledge, which is scattered over a wide extent* 
into a small compass, if it has not the merit of origin- 
ality, has at least the advantage of being useful* .. 
Many, who are terrified at the idea of travelling over 
a ponderous volume in search of information, will 
yet set out on a short journey in pursuit of science 
with alacrity and profit. Those for whom the follow- 
ing Essays are principally intended, will derive pecul- 
iar benefit from the brevity with which they are con- 
veyed. To youth, who are engaged in the rudiments 
of learning ; whose time and attention must be occu- 
pied by a variety of subjects, every branch of science 
should be rendered as concise as possible. Hence the 
attention is not fatigued, nor the memory overloaded*. 
That a knowledge of Rhetorick forms a very ma- 
terial part of the education of a polite scholar must 
be universally allowed* Any attempt, therefore, how-; 
ever imperfect, to make so useful an art more gener-. 
ally known, has claim to that praise which is the re- 
ward of good intention. With this the Editor will, 
be sufficiently satisfied ; since being serviceable to oth- 
ers is the most agreeable method of becoming ccxi?. 
tented with ourselves, 



CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION PAGE 
On Taste 8 
Criticism. Genius. Pleasures of Taste. Sublim- 
ity in Objects 13 
Sublimity in Writing 22 
Beauty and other Pleasures of Taste SI 
Origin and Progress of Language S9 
Rise and Progress of Language and of Writing 47 
Structure of Language 52 
Structure of Language. English Tongue 57 
Style. Perspicuity and Precision 64 
Structure of Sentences 68 
The same Subject 73 
Structure of Sentences. Harmony 79 
Origin and Nature of Figurative Language 86 
Metaphor 91 
Hyperbole 96 
Personification and Apostrophe 98 
Comparison, Antithesis, Interrogation, Exclama- 
tion, and other Figures of Speech 102 
Antithesis 105 
Interrogation and Exclamation 106 
Vision and Climax 107 
General Characters of Style. Diffuse, Concise — 
Feeble, Nervous— Dry, Plain, Neat, Elegant, 
Flowery 108 
Style. Simple. Affected, Vehement. Directions 

for forming a proper Style - 114? 
Critical Examination of Mr. Addison's Style in 

No. 411 of the Spectator 121 
Eloquence. Origin of Eloquence. Grecian Elo- 
quence. Demosthenes 130 
Roman Eloquence. Cicero. Modern Eloquence 136 
Eloquence of Popular Assemblies 141 
Eloquence of the Bar 145 
Eloquence of the Pulpit 151 



CONTENTS. d 

Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts. Introduc- page 

tion, Division, Narration, and Explication 156 
The Argumentative Part of a Discourse, the Pa- 

thetick Part, and the Peroration 162 

Pronunciation or Delivery 167 

Means of improving in Eloquence 176 
Comparative Merit of the Ancients and Moderns 3 83 

Historical Writing 186 

Philosophical Writing and Dialogue 190 

Epistolary Writing 192 

Fictitious History 192 
Nature of Poetry. Its Origin and Progress — » 

Versification 194 

English Versification 196 

Pastoral Poetry 198 

Lyrick Poetry 203 

Didaclick Poetry 205 

Descriptive Poetry 207 

The Poetry of the Hebrews 211 

Epick Poetry 215 

Homer's Iliad and Odyssey 220 

The ^Eneid of Virgil 224 

Lucan's* Pharsalia 227 

Tasso's Jerusalem 229 

The Lusiad of Camoens 231 

The Telemachus of Fenelon 232 

The Henriade of Voltaire 234 

Milton's Paradise Lost 236 

Dramatick Poetry. Tragedy- 239 

Greek Tragedy 250 

French Tragedy 251 

English Tragedy 253 

Comedy 255 

Ancient Comedy 258 

Spanish Comedy 259 

French Comedy 260 

English Comedy 261 

A % 



INTRODUCTION, 



A PROPER acquaintance with the circle of 
Liberal Arts is requifite to the ftudy of Rheto- 
ric^ and Belles Lettres. To extend the knowl- 
edge of them muft be the firft care of thofe, 
who wifh either to write with reputation, or fo 
to exprefs themfelves in publick, as to command 
attention. Among the ancients it was an 
eilential principle, that the orator ought to be 
converfant in every department of learning* 
No art indeed can be contrived which can ftamp 
merit on a compofition, rich or fplendid in ex- 
preffion, but barren or erroneous in fentimenU 
Oratory, it is true, has often been difgraced by 
attempts to eft ablifh a falfe criterion of its value* 
Writers have endeavoured to fupply want of 
matter by graces of compofition ; and courted 
the temporary applaufe of the ignorant, inftead 
of the lafting approbation of the difcerning. But 
inch impofture muft he fhort and tranfitory. 
The body and fubftance of any valuable compo- 
fition muft be formed of knowledge and fcience. 
Rhetorick completes the ftructui e : and adds the 
polifh ; but firm and iolid bodies only are able 
to receive it. 



INTRODUCTION* 7 

Among the learned it has long been a con. 
tefted, and remains ftill an undecided queftion, 
whether Nature or Art contribute moft toward 
excellence in writing and difcourfe. Various 
may be the opinions with refpeft to the manner, 
in which Art can moft effectually furnifh aid 
for fuch a purpofe ; and it were prefumption 
to affert, that rhetorical rules, how juft foever, 
are fufficient to form an orator. Private ap- 
plication and ftudy, fuppofmg natural genius 
to be favourable, are certainly fuperiour to any 
fyftem of publick inftru&ion. But, though rules 
and inftru&ions cannot effeft every thing which 
is requifite, they may be of confiderable ufe. 
If they cannot infpire genius, they can give it 
direction and affiftance. If they cannot make 
barrennefs fruitful, they can correct redundan- 
cy. They prefent proper models for imitation ; 
they point out the principal beauties which 
ought to be ftudied, and the chief faults which 
ought to be avoided; and confequently tend to 
enlighten Tafle, and to conduct Genius from 
unnatural deviations into its proper channel. 
Though they are incapable of producing great 
excellencies ; they may at leait lerve to prevent 
confideiable miitakes. 

In the education of youth, no objeft has ap- 
peared more important to wife men in every age, 
than to excite in them an early relifh for the 



3 INTRODUCTION. 

entertainments of Tafte. From thefe to the 
difcharge of the higher and more important du- 
ties of life the tranfition is natural and eafy. Of 
thofe minds, which have this elegant and liberal 
turn, the rnoft pleafing- hopes may be entertain- 
ed. On the contrary, entire infenfibility to elo- 
quence* poetry, or any of the fine arts, may 
juftly be confidered as a bad fymptom in youth ; 
and fuppofes them inclined to low gratifications, 
or capable of being engaged only in the com- 
mon purfuits of life. 

Improvement of Tafte feems to be more or 
lefs connefted with every good and virtuous 
difpofition. By giving frequent exercife to the 
tender and humane paffions, a cultivated tafte 
increafes ttnl.bility ; yet at the fame time it 
tends to foften the more violent and angry 
emotions. 

Ingenues didic'ijf-, fid;. liter attgs 
Emollii ?no : es , i tejih It ejfe f$> gs- 

Thefe pohih'd aft$ have humanized mankind, 
SoHcn'd the rude, and calnrd the boifterous mind. 

Poetry, Eloquence, and Hiftory continually 
exhibit to our view thofe elevated fentiments 
and high examples, which tend to nourifh in our 
minds publick fpirit, love of glory, contempt of 
external fortune, and admiration of every thing 
truly great, noble and illuftrious. 



%tttum on motorics*, 



ABRIDGED. 



TASTE. 

JL ASTE is " the power of receiving pleafure 
11 or pain from the beauties or deformities of Nature 
" and of Art." It is a faculty common in fome de- 
gree to all men* Through the circle of human na- 
ture, nothing is more general, than the relifh of Beau- 
ty of one kind or other \ of what is orderly, propor- 
tioned, grand, harmonious, new, or fprightly. Nor 
does there prevail lefs generally a difrelifh of what- 
ever is grofs, difproportioned, disorderly, and difcord- 
nni. In children the rudiments of Tafte appear very 
early in a thoufand inftances ; in their partiality for 
regular bodies, their fondnefs for pictures and ftatues, 
and their warm attachment to whatever is new or 
aftonifliing. The mod ftupid peafants receive pleafure 
from tales and ballads, and are delighted with the 
beautiful appearances of nature in the earth and 
heavens. Even in the deferts of America, where hu- 
man nature appears in its moft uncultivated (late^ the 
lavages have their ornaments of drefs, their war and 
their death fongs, their harangues and their orators. 
The principles of Tafte muft therefore be deeply 
founded in the human mind. To have fome difcern- 
rnent of Beauty is no lefs eflential to man, than tot 
poflefs the attributes of fpeech and reafon* 



fcO TASTE. 

Though no human being can be entirely devoid off 
this faculty, yet it is poffeffed in very different degrees. 
In fome men only faint glimmerings of Tafte are 
vifible ; the beauties, which they relifh are of the 
coarff ft kind ; and of thefe they have only a weak and 
confufed impreffibn *, while in others Tafte rifes to an 
acute difcernment, and a lively enjoyment of the mod 
refined beauties. 

This inequality of Tafte among men is to be af- 
cribed undoubtedly in part to the different frame of 
their natures ; to nicer organs, and more delicate in- 
ternal powers, with which fome are endued- beyond 
others 5 yet it is owing ftili more to culture and edu- 
cation. Tafte is certainly one of the mod improva- 
ble faculties of our nature. We may eafily be con- 
vinced of the truth of this affertion by only reflecting, 
on that immenfe fuperiority, which education and 
improvement give to civilized above barbarous nations 
in refinement of Tafte ; and on the advantage, which 
they give in the fame nation totliofe, who have {fuell- 
ed the liberal arts, above the rude and illiterate vulgar. 

Reafon and good fenfe have fo extenfive an influence 
on ail the operations and decifions of Tafte, that a 
completely good Tafte may well be confidered, as a 
power compounded of natural fen ability to beauty and 
of improved underftanding. To be fatisfied of this, 
we may obferve, that the greater part of the produc- 
tions of Genius are no other than imitations of na-< 
ture; representations of • the chara&ers, anions, or 
manners of men. Now the pleafure we experience 
from fuch imitations or representations is founded on 
mere Tafte ^ but to judge, whether they be proper* 



TASTE* XI 



ly executed, belongs to the underftanding, which com- 
pares the copy with the original. 

In reading, for inftance, the iEneid of Virgil, a 
great part of our pleafure arifes from the proper con- 
duit of the plan or ftory ; from all the parts being 
joined together with probability and due connexion ; 
from the adoption of the characters from nature, the 
correspondence of the fentiments to the characters, 
and of the ftyle to the fentiments. The pleafure, 
which is derived from a poem fo conduced, is felt or 
enjoyed by Tafte, as an internal fenfe ; but the dif- 
covery of this conduit in the poem is owing to reafon ; 
and the more reafon enables us to difcover fuch pro- 
priety in the conduct, the greater will be our pleafure. 

The conftituents of Tafte, when Brought to its molt 
perfect ftate, are two, Delicacy and Corre£tnefs. 

Delicacy of Tafte refers principally to the perfection 
of that natural fenfibility, on which Tafte is foundedo 
It implies thofe finer organs or powers, which enable 
us to difcover beauties, that are concealed from a vul- 
gar eye. It is judged of by the fame marks, that we 
employ in judging of the delicacy of an external fenfe. 
As the goodnefs of the palate is not tried by ftrong 
flavours, but by a mixture of ingredients, where, not- 
withftanding the confufioi*, we remain fenfible of 
each ; fo delicacy of internal Tafte appears by a quick 
and lively fenfibility to its fined, moil compounded, 
or moft latent objects. 

Correctnefs of Tafte refpe&s the improvement this 
faculty receives through its connexion with the un« 
derftanding. A man of corre£t tafte is one, who is 
never impofed on by counterfeit beauties •, who carries 
always in his own mind that ftandard of good fenfe. 



t% TASTE. 

which he employs in judging of every thing. He ef- 
timates with propriety the relative merit of the feveral 
beauties, which he meets in any work of genius ; re- 
fers them to their proper claffes ; affigns the principles 
as far as they can be traced, whence their power of 
pleafing is derived ; and is pleafed himfelf precifely in 
that degree, in which he ought, and no more. 

Tafte is certainly not an arbitrary principle, which 
is fubje& to the fancy of every individual, and which 
admits no criterion for determining, whether it be 
true or falfe. Its foundation is the fame in every hu- 
man mind. It is built upon fentiments and percep- 
tions, which are infeparable from our nature ; and 
which generally operate with the fame uniformity, as 
our other intelle&ual principles. When thefe fenti- 
ments are perverted by ignorance or prejudice, they 
may be rectified by reafon. Their found and natural 
ftate is finally determined by comparing them with 
the general Tafte of mankind. Let men declaim as 
much as they pleafe, concerning the caprice and un- 
certainty of Tafte ; it is found by experience, that 
there are beauties, which if difplayed in a proper light, 
have power to command- lading and univerfal admira- 
tion. In every compofition, what interefts the imag- 
ination, and touches the heart, gives pleafure to all 
ages and nations. There is a certain firing, which 
being properly ftruck, the human heart is fo made, as 
to accord to it. 

Hence the univerfal teftimony, which the mod im- 
proved nations of the earth through a long feries of 
ages have concurred to bellow on fome few works of 
genius ; fuch as the Iliad of Homer, and the iEneid 
of Virgil. Hence the authority, which fuch works 



CRITICISM. 13 

have obtained, as ftandards of poetical compofition ; 
fince by them we are enabled to collect, what the fenfe 
of mankind is with refpe£i to thofe beauties, which 
give them the higheft pleafure, and which, therefore, 
poetry ought to exhibit. Authority or prejudice may 
in one age or country give a fnort-lived reputation to 
an indifferent poet, or a bad artift ; but when foreign- 
ers, or pofterity examine his works, his faults are dis- 
covered, and the genuine Tafte of human nature is 
feen. Time overthrows the illufions of opinion, but 
eftablifhes the decifions of nature. 



CRITICISM. GENIUS. PLEASURES OF TASTE- 
SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 

i RUE Criticism is the application of Tafte 
and of good fenfe to the feveral fine arts. Its defign 
is to diftinguifh, what is beautiful and what is faulty 
in every performance. From particular inftances it 
afcends to general principles ; and gradually forms 
rules or conclufions concerning the feveral kinds of 
Beauty in works of Genius. 

Criticifm is an art, founded entire.ly on experience ; 
on the obfervation of fuch beauties, as have been 
found to pleafe mankind mod generally. For exam- 
ple, Ariftotle's rules concerning the unity of adlion 
in dramatick and epick compofition were not firft dif- 
covered by logical reafoning, and then applied to po- 
etry ; but they were deduced from the practice of 
Homer and Sophocles. They were founded upon ob- 



14 GENIUS. 

ferving the fuperiour pleafure, which we derive from 
the relation of an adion, which is one and entire, 
beyond what we receive from the relation of Scatter- 
ed and unconnected fads. 

A fuperiour Genius, indeed, will of himfelf, unin- 
ftruded, compofe in fuch manner, as is agreeable to 
the mod important rules of Criticifm ; for, as thefe 
rules are founded in nature, nature will frequently 
fuggeft them in pradice. Homer was acquainted 
with no fyftem of the art of poetry. Guided by 
Genius alone, he compofed in verfe a regular ftory, 
which all fucceeding ages have admired. This, how- 
ever, is no argument againft the ufefulnefs of Criti- 
cifm. For fince no human genius is perfed, there is 
no writer, who may not receive afiiftance from critical 
obfervations upon the beauties and faults of thofe, 
who have gone before him. No rules indeed can fup- 
ply the defeds of genius, or infpire it, where it is 
wanting \ but they may often guide it into its proper 
channel ; they may corred its extravagances, and 
teach it the moft juft and proper imitation of nature. 
Critical rules are intended chiefly to point out the 
faults, which ought to be avoided. We muft be in- 
debted to nature for the produdion of eminent 
beauties. 

Genius is a word, which in common acceptation 
extends much farther, than to objeds of Tafte, It 
Cgnifies that talent or aptitude, which we receive 
from nature, in order to excel in any one thing what- 
ever. A man is faid to have a genius for mathe- 
maticks as well as a genius for poetry ; a genius for 
war, for politicks, or for any mechanical employment 



?LEAStfRES OF TASTE. 1 5 

Genius may be greatly improved by art and ftudy ; 
but by them alone it cannot be acquired. As it is a 
higher faculty than Tafte, it is ever, according to the 
common frugality of nature, more limited in the 
fphere of its operations. There are perfons, not un- 
frequently to be met, who have an excellent Tafte 
in feveral of the polite arts ; fuch, as mufick, poetry* 
painting, and eloquence , but an excellent performer 
in all thefe arts is very feldom found \ or rather is 
not to be looked for. A univerfal Genius, or one 
who is equally and indifferently inclined toward fever- 
al different profeffions and arts, is not likely to excel 
in any. Although there may be fome few exceptions, 
yet in general it is true, that, when the mind is whol- 
ly directed toward fome one object exclufively of 
others, there is the faireft profpeit of eminence in 
that, whatever it may be. Extreme heat can be pro- 
duced, only when the rays converge to a fingle point. 
Young perfons are highly interefted in this remark \ 
fince it may teach them to examine with care, and to 
purfue with ardour, that path, which nature has mark- 
ed out for their peculiar exertions. 

The nature of Tafte, the nature and importance of 
Criticifm, and the diftindtion between Tafte and Gen* 
ius, being thus explained ; the fources of the Pleas- 
ures of Tafte fhall next be confidered. Here a very 
extenfive field is opened \ no lefs, than all the Pleas- 
ures of the Imagination, as they are generally called, 
whether afforded us by natural objects, or by imita- 
tions and defcriptions of them. It is not, however, 
neceffary to the purpofe of the prefent work, that all 
thefe be examined fully •, the pleafure, which we re- 
ceive from difcourfe or writing, being the principal 



i£> PLEASURES OF TASTE. 

object of them. Our defigu is to give fome opening 
into the Pleafures of Tafte in general, and to infift 
more particularly upon Sublimity and Beauty. 

We are far from having yet attained any fyftem 
concerning this fubjedt. A regular inquiry into it 
was firft attempted by Mr. Addifon, in his Eflay on 
the Pleafures of the Imagination. By him thefe 
Pleafures are ranged under three heads, Beauty, Gran- 
deur, and Novelty. His fpeculations on this fubj.tt&» 
if not remarkably profound, are very beautiful and 
entertaining *, and he has the merit of having difcov- 
ered a track, which was before untrodden. Since hh 
time the advances, made in this part of philosophic- 
al criticifm, are not confiderable ; which is owing, 
doubtlefs, to that thinnefs and fubtility, which are 
difcovered to be properties of all the feelings of TaPce. 
It is difficult to enumerate the feveral objects, which 
give pleafure to Tafte ; it is more difficult to define all 
thofe, which have been difcovered, and to range them 
in proper elafies ; and, when we would proceed far- 
ther, and inveftigate the efficient caufes of the pleafure, 
which we receive from fuch obje£ls, here we find our- 
felves at the greateft lofs. For example, we ail learn 
by experience that fome figures of bodies appear more 
beautiful than others \ on farther inquiry we difcover 
that the regularity of fome figures and the graceful 
variety of others are the -foundation of the beauty, 
which we difcern in them ; but, when we endeavour 
to go a ftep beyond this, and inquire, why regularity 
and variety produce in our minds the fenfation of 
beauty \ any reafon, we can affign, is extremely im- 
perfect. Thofe firft principles of internal fenfation 
liatur:. appears to have ftudioufly concealed* 



SUBLIMITY IN OEJECTS. IJ 

It is fome confolation, however, that, although the 
efficient caufe is obfeure, the final caufe of thofe fenfa- 
tions lies commonly more open ; and here we mud 
obferve the ftrong impreffion which the powers of 
Tafte and Imagination are calculated to give us of the 
benevplence of our Creator. By thefe powers he hath 
widely enlarged the fphere of the pleafures of human 
life ; and thofe too of a kind the moft pure and inno- 
cent. The neceffary purpofes of life might have been 
anfwered, though our fenfes of feeing and hearing 
had only ferved to diftinguifh external objects, with- 
out giving us any of thofe refined and delicate fenfa- 
tions of beauty and grandeur, with which we are now 
fo much delighted. 

The pleafure, which arifes from fublimity or gran- 
deur, deferves to be fully confidered ; becaufe it has a 
character more precife and diftinctly marked, than - 
any other of the pleafures of the imagination, and be- 
caufe it coincides more directly with our main fubject. 
The fimpleft form of external grandeur is feen in the 
vaft and boundlefs profpe£ts, prefented to us by na- 
ture ; fuch as widely extended plains, of which the 
eye can find no limits ; the firmament of heaven ; or 
the boundlefs expanfe of the ocean. All vaftnefs 
produces the impreffion of fublimity. Space, however, 
extended in length, makes not fo ftrong an impreflion, 
as height or depth. Though a boundlefs plain is a 
grand object $ yet a lofty mountain, to which we look 
up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we look 
down oa objects below, is ftill more fo. Theexceffive 
grandeur of the firmament arifes from its height, add- 
ed to its boundlefs extent ; and that of the ocean, 
not from its extent alone, but from the continual mo- 
B 2 



IS SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 

tion and irrefiftible force of that mafs of waters. 
Wherever fpace is concerned, it is evident that am- 
plitude, or greatnefs of extent, m one dimenfion or 
other, is neceflary to grandeur. Remove all bounds 
from any object, and you immediately render it fub- 
lime. Hence infinite fpace, endlefs numbers, and e- 
ternal duration, fill the mind with great ideas. 

The mod copious fource of fublime ideas feems to 
be derived from the exertion of great power and force* 
Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning moun- 
tains j of great conflagrations ; of the boifterous ocean j. 
of the tempeftuous ftorm ; of thunder and lightning v 
and of all the unufual violence of the elements. A 
ftream, which glides along gently within its banks, is 
a beautiful objeft \ but, when it rufhes down with the 
impetuofity and noife of a torrent, it immediately be- 
comes a fublime one. A race-horfe is viewed with 
pleafure \ but it is the war-horfe, u whofe neck is 
" clothed with thunder," that conveys grandeur in its 
idea. The engagement of two powerful armies, as it 
is the higheft exertion of human ftrength, combines, 
various fources of the fublime ; and has confequently 
been ever considered, as one of the moft linking and 
magnificent fpettacles, which can be either prefented 
to the eye, or exhibited to the imagination in defcrip- 
tion. 

All ideas of the folemn and awful kind, and even, 
bordering on the terrible* tend greatly taaflinVthc fub- 
lime ; fuch as darknefs, folitude, and filence. The 
firmament, when filled with ftars, fcattered in infinite 
numbers and with fplendid profufion, ftrikes the im- 
agination with more awful grandeur, than when we 
behold it enlightened by all the fplendour of the fun* 



SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. X£ 

The deep found of a great bell, or the {hiking of a 
great clock, is at any time grand and awful j but when 
heard amid the filence and ftillnefs of night, they be- 
come doubly fo. Darknefs is very generally applied 
for adding fublimity to all our ideas of the Deity. 
" He maketh darknefs his pavilion ; he dwelleth in 
" the thick cloud." Thus Milton — 



•How oft amid 



Thick clouds and dark does heaven's all-ruling Sirs 
Choofe to r elide, his glory unobfcur'd ; 
And with the majefty of darknefs round 
Circles his throne 



Obfcurity is favourable to the fublime. The de- 
fcriptions given us of appearances of fupernatural 
beings, carry fome fublimity \ though the conception, 
which they afford us, be confufed and indiftin£t. 
Their fublimity arifes from the ideas, which they al- 
ways convey, of fuperiour power and might connected 
with awful obfcurity. No ideas, it is evident, are fo 
fublime, as thofe derived from the Supreme Being, the 
mod unknown, yet the greateii of all obje£ts ; the in- 
finity of whofe nature and the eternity of whofe du- 
ration, added to the omnipotence of his power, though 
they furpafs our conceptions, yet exalt them to the 
higheft. 

Diforder is alfo very compatible with grandeur \ 
nay, frequently heightens it. Few things, which are 
exa£lly reg^.ar and methodical, appear fublime. We 
fee the limits on every fide \ we feel ourfelves con- 
fined ; there is no room for any confiderable exertion 
of the mind. Though exa£t proportion of parts en- 



2© SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS^ 

ters often into the beautiful, it is much difregarded m 
the fublime. A great mafs of rocks, thrown together 
by the hand of nature with wildnefs and confufion, 
ftrikes the mind with more grandeur, than if they had 
been adj lifted to each other with the moil accurate 
fymmetry. 

There yet remains one clafs of Sublime Obje&s to 
be mentioned, which may be termed the Moral or 
Sentimental Sublime, arifing from certain exertions 
of tfye mind y {torn certain affections and actions of 
our fellow creatures. Thefe will be found to be 
chiefly of that clafs which comes under the name of 
Magnanimity or Heroifm ; and they produce an ef- 
fect very fimilar to what is produced by a view of 
grand obje&s in nature, filling the mind with admi- 
ration and railing it above itfelf. Wherever in fome 
critical and dangerous fituation- we behold a. man un- 
commonly intrepid, and reding folely upon himfelf 5. 
fuperiour to paflion and to fear ; animated by fome 
great principle to contempt of popular opinion, of 
felfiih intereit, of dangers, or of death ; we are there 
' ftruck with a fenfe of the fublime. Thus Porus* 
when taken by Alexander after a gallant defence, be* 
ing afked, in what manner he would be treated ; an- 
fwered, " Like a King :" and Csefar, chiding the pilots 
who was afraid to fet out with him in a ftorm, 
" Quid times ? Cseiarem vehis," are good inftances* 
of the Sentimental Sublime. 

The fublime in natural and in moral objects is pre- 
fented to us in one view, and compared together, ia 
the following beautiful paflage of Akenfide's Pleafurefc 
of the Imagination 



SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 2* 

Look then abroad through nature to the range 
Or planets funs, and adamantine spheres, 
Wheeling, uiifhaken, thro' the void immenfe ; 
And fpe-ik, O Mm ! does this capacious fcene* 
W-th half that kindling majeHy, dilate 
Thy (trong conception, as when Brutus rofe 
Refulgent from the ftroke of Csefar's fate 
Amid the crowds of patriots ; and his arm 
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 
W.'isn guilt brings i the thunder, call'd aloud 
On Tuliy's name, ana (hook hiscrimfon fteel, 
And hade the father of his country hail 1 
Fo lo ! the tyrant proftrate on the duft j 
And Rome again is free. » 

It has been imagined by an ingenious Author, that 
ir is the fource of the fublime \ and that no ol> 
ruve this character, but fuch as produce impref- 
: of pain and danger. Many terrible objects are 
indee- lighly fublime ; nor does grandeur refufe alli- 
trpee he idea, of danger. But the fublime does 

not coaiiit wholly in modes of danger and pain. In 
many grand qbjeEb, there is not the lead coincidence 
with terror : as in the magnificent profpecl: of widely 
extended plains and of the ftarry firmament ; or ia 
the moral difpofitions and fen.timents, which we con- 
template with high admiration. In many painful and 
terrible obje&s, alfo, it is evident, there is no fort of 
grandeur, f he amputation of a limb., or the bite of 
a fnake, is in the higheft degree terrible \ but they 
are deftitute of all claim whatever to fublimity. It 
feems juft to allow that mighty force of power, whether 
attended by terror or not, whether employed in pro- 
tecting or alarming us, has a better title, than any 
thing yet mentioned, to be the fundamental quality 



%2 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 

of the fublime. There appears to be no fublime ob~ 
je&, into the idea of which ftrength anc} force either 
enter not dire£Uy, or are not at leaft intimately aflb- 
ciated by conducting our thoughts to fome aftonifhing 
power, as concerned in the production of the obje£t. 



SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 

X HE fbundationof the Sublime In Compolition 
mull always be laid in the nature of the obje£i de- 
fcribed. Unlefs it be fuch an obje£t, as, if presented 
to our fight, if exhibited to us in reality, would excite 
ideas of that elevating, that awful, and magnificent 
kind, which we call Sublime ; the description, how- 
ever finely drawn, is not entitled to be placed under 
this clafs. This excludes all obj.e£b, which are merely 
beautiful, gay or elegant. Befides, the objevSl murt not 
only in itfelf be fublime, but k mad be placed before 
us in fuch a light, as is bed calculated to give us a 
clear and full impreflion of it ; it mud be defcribed 
with ftrength, concifenefs and fimplicity. This de- 
pends chiefly upon the lively impreflion, which the 
poet or orator has of the obje£t, which he exhibits v 
and upon his being deeply affe£ted and animated by 
the fublime idea, which he would convey. If his own 
feeling be languid, he can never infpire his reader 
with any ftrong emotion. Inftances, which on thi& 
fubje£t are extremely neceflary, will clearly (how the 
importance of all thefe requifites. 

It is chiefly among ancient authors, that we are to 
look for the mod ftriking inltances of the fublime* 



SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. lg 

The early ages of the world and the uncultivated (late 
of fociety were peculiarly favourable to the emotions 
of fublimity. The genius of men was then very prone 
to admiration and aftonifhment. Meeting continually 
new and ftrange objects, their imagination was kept 
glowing, and their paffions were often raifed to the 
utmofl. They thought and expreffed themfelves bold- 
ly without reftraint. In the progrefs of fociety the 
genius and manners of men have undergone a change 
more favourable to accuracy, than to ftrength or fub- 
limity. 

Of all writings, ancient or modern, the facred 
fcriptures afford the mod ftriking inftances of the 
fublime. In them the defcriptions of the Supreme 
Being are wonderfully noble, both from the grandeur 
of the object, and the manner of reprefenting it. 
What an aflemblage of awful and fublime ideas is pre- 
fented to us in that paffage of the eighteenth Pfalm, 
where an appearance of the Almighty is described ! 
u In my diftrefs I called upon the Lord ; he heard my 
u my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before 
u him. Then the earth fhook and trembled 5 the 
u foundations of the hills were moved \ becaufe he 
" was wroth. He bowed the heavens, and came 
" down, and darknefs was under his feet ; and he 
** did ride upon a cherub, and did fly ; yea, he did 
u fly upon the wings of the wind. He made dark- 
M nefs his fecret place •, his pavilion round about him 
cc were dark waters and thick clouds of the fey." 
The circumftances of darknefs and terror are here ap- 
plied with propriety and fuccefs for heightening the 
fublime. 



24 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 

The celebrated inflance, given by Longinus, from 
IVofes, " God faid, Let there be light \ and there was 
" light," belongs to the true fublime ; and its fublim- 
ity arifes from the ilrcng conception, it conveys, of 
an effort of power producing its effect with the utmoft 
fpeed and facility, t A fimilar thought is magnificently 
expanded in the following paffage of Ifaiah : (chap, 
xxiv. 24, 27, 28) "Thus faith the Lord, thy Redeem- 
u er, and he that formed thee from the womb $ I 
!? am the Lord, that maketh all things 5 that ftretch- 
cc eth forth the heavens alone ; that fpreadeth abroad 
fC the earth by myfelf ; that faith to the deep, be 
u dry, and I will dry up thy rivers ; that faith of 
" Cyrus, he is my fhepherd, and {hall perform all 
<c my pleafure •, even faying to Jerufalem, thou (halt 
u be built •, and to the temple, thy foundation fhall 
« be laid." 

Homer has in all ages been univerfally admired for 
fublimity ; and he is indebted for much of his gran- 
deur to that native and unaffected fimplicity which 
characterizes his manner. His defcriptions of con- 
flicting armies ; the fpirit, the fire, the rapidity, which 
he throws into his battles, prefent to every reader of 
the Iliad frequent inftances of fublime writing. The 
majefty of his warlike fcenes is often heightened til 
a hicrh degree by the introdu&ion of the gods. In 
the twentieth book, where all the gods take part in 
the engagement, according as they feverally favour 
either the Grecians or the Trojans, the poet appears 
to put forth one of his highefl efforts, and the defcrip- 
tion riles into the mod awful magnificence. All na- 
ture appears in commotion. Jupiter thunders in the 
heavens \ Neptune ftrikes the earth with his trident \ 



SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 25 

the (hips, the city, and the mountains fhake ; the 
earth trembles to its centre ; Pluto ftarts from his 
throne, fearing, left the fecrets of the infernal regions 
fhould be laid open to the view of mortals. We {hall 
tranferibe Mr. Pope's tranflatipn of this paflage ; 
which, though inferiour to the original, is highly ani- 
mated and fublime. 

But, when the powers defcending fwelPd the fight, 
Then tumult rofe, fierce rage, and pale affright. 
New thro' the trembling fliores Minerva calls, 
And now fhe thunders from the Grecian walls. 
Mars, hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror fhrcuds 
In gloomy tempefb, and a night of clouds ; 
Now thro 9 each Trojan heart he fury pours 
^ With voice divine from Ilion's topmoft towers ; 
Above the fire of gods his thunder rolls, 
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles. 
Beneath, (lern Neptune £hakes the folid ground. 
The forefts wave, the mountains nod around ; 
Thro' all her fummits tremble Ida's woods, 
And from their fources boil her hundred floods ; 
Troy's turrets tetter on the rocking plain, 
And the tofs'd navies beat the heaving main. 
Deep in the difrnal region of the dead 
Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head, 
Leapt from his throne, left Neptune's arm fhould lay 
His dark dominions open to the day, 
And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, 
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods. 
Such wars th* immortals wage ; fuch horrors rend 
The world's vafl concave, when the gods contend. 

Concifenefs and finiplicity will ever be found eilen- 
tial to fublime writing. Simplicity is properly oppof* 
ed to ftudied and profufe ornament - y and concifenefs 
to fuperfluous expreffion. It will eafily appear, why a 



%6 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 

defe£l either in concifenefs or fimplicity is pec uliarly 
hurtful to the fublime. The emotion excited in the 
mind by fome great or noble obje£t, raifes it confider- 
ably above its common pitch. A fpecies of erithufi-i 
afm is produced, extremely pleafing, while it lafts ; 
but the mind is tending every moment to fink into its 
ordinary ftate. When an author has brought us, or 
is endeavouring to bring us into this ftate, if he mul- 
tiply words unneceffarily ; if he deck the fublime ob- 
je£t on all (ides with glittering ornaments ; nay, if he 
throw in any one decoration, which falls in the leaft 
below the principal image ; that moment he changes 
the key ; he relaxes the tenfion of the mind ; the 
ftrength of the feeling is emafculated ; the beautiful 
may remain ; but the fublime is extinguifhed. Ho- 
mer's defcription of the nod of Jupiter, as fhaking the 
heavens, has been admired in all ages, as wonderfully 
fublime. Literally tranflated, it runs thus : " He 
** fpoke, and bending his fable brows, gave the awful 
u nod \ while he (hook the celeftial locks of his im- 
" mortal head, all Olympus was {haken." Mr. Pope 
txanflates it thus : 

He fpoke ; and awful bends his sable brows, 
Shakes his ambrofial curls, and gives the nod, 
The ftamp of fate, and fan&ion of a God ; 
High heaven with trembling the dread fignal took, 
And all Olympus to its centre fliook. 

The image is expanded, and attempted to be beau- 
tified •, but in reality it is weakened* The third line— 
" The ftamp of fate, and fanction of a God," is en- 
tirely expletive, and introduced only to fill up the 
rhyme *, for it interrupts the defcription, and clogs the 



SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 2? 

image. For the fame reafon Jupiter is reprefented, 
as fnaking his locks, before he gives the nod ; " Shakes 
" his ambrofral curls, and gives the nod f which is 
trilling and infignificant ; whereas in the original the 
fnaking of his hair is the confequence of his nod, and 
makes a happy pi&urefque circumftance in the de~ 
fcription. 

The boldnefs, freedom, and variety of our blank 
verfe are infinitely more propitious than rhyme, to 
all kinds of fublime poetry. The fulled proof of this 
is afforded by Milton ; an author, whofe genius led 
him peculiarly to the fublime. The firft and fecond 
books of Paradife Loft are continued examples of it. 
Take, for inftanee, the following noted defcription of 
Satan, after his fall, appearing at the head of his in- 
fernal hofts ; 



-He, above the reft, 



In fliape and gefture proudly eminent, 

Stood, like a tower ; his form had not yet loft' 

AU her original brightnefs, nor appear'd 

JLefs than archangel ruin'd, and the excefs 

Of glory obfcur'd : As when the fun, new rifen, 

Looks through the horizontal mifty air, 

Shorn of his beams ; or, from behind the moon, 

In dim eclipfe, difaftrous twilight flieds 

On half the nations, and with fear of change 

Perplexes raonarchs. Darkened fo, yet ihone 

Above them all th' archangeh 

Here various fources of the fublime are joined to- 
gether : the principal object fuperlatively great ; a 
high, fuperiour nature, fallen indeed, but raifing itfeif 
againft diftrefs ; the grandeur of the principal object 
heightened by connecting it with fo noble -an idea, as 



28 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 

that of the fun fuffering an eclipfe ; this picture,, 
fhaded with all thofe images of change and trouble, 
of darknefs and terror ; which coincide fo exquifitely 
with the fuhlime emotion ; and the whole expreffed 
in a ftyle and verfification eafy, natural, and fimple, 
but magnificent. 

Befide fimplicity and concifenefs, ftrength is eflen^- 
tially neceffary to fublime writing. Strength of de-. 
fcription proceeds in a great meafure from concifenefs ; 
but it implies fomething more, namely, a judicious 
choice of circumftances in the defcription ; fuch as 
will exhibit the object in its full and moll ftriking 
point of view. For every object has feveral faces, by 
which it may be prefented to us, according to the 
circumftances with which we furround it 5 and it 
will appear fuperlatively fublime, or not, in pro- 
portion as thefe circumftances are happily chofen, 
and of a fublime kind. In this, the great art of the 
writer confifts ; and indeed the principal difficulty of 
fublime defcription. If the defcription be too general, 
and di veiled cf circumftances ; the object is fhewn 
in a faint light, and makes a feeble impreffion, or no 
impreiTion^ on the reader. At the time, if any trivial 
or improper circumftances be mingled, the whole is, 
degraded. 

The nature of that emotion, which is aimed at by 
fublime. defcription, admits no mediocrity, and cannot 
fubfift in a middle ftate ; but muft either highly tranf- 
port us ; or, if unfuecefsful in the execution, leave us 
exceedingly difgufted. We attempt to rife with the 
writer; the imagination is awakened, and put upon 
|& ftretch } but it ought to be fupported ; and, if in 
:he mlJft of its effort it be darted unexpectedly, k 



SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 



2 5> 



falls with a painful (hock. When Milton in his bat- 
tle of the angels defcribes them, as tearing up moun- 
tains, and throwing them at one another ; there are in 
his description, as Mr. Addifon has remarked, no cir- 
cumftances, but what are truly fublime : 

From their foundations loos'ning to and fro, 
They pluck'd the feated hills with all their load, 
Rocks, waters, woods ; and by the fliaggy tops 
Uplifting, bore them in their hands. 

This idea of the giants throwing the mountains, 
which is in itfelf ib grand, Claudian renders burlefque 
and ridiculous by the {ingle circumflance of one of 
his giants with the mountain Ida upon his fhoul- 
ders, and a river, which flowed from the mountain, 
running down the giant's back, as he held it up in that 
pofture. Virgil in his defcription of mount JEtna, is 
guilty of a flight inaccuracy of this kind. After fev- 
eral magnificent images, the poet concludes with per- 
fonifying the mountain under this figure, 

— " Eruclans vifcera cum gemitu'* 

€l belching up its bowels with a groan j" which, by 
making the mountain referable a fick or drunken per- 
fon, degrades the majefty of the defcription. The 
debating effect, of this idea will appear in a ftronger 
light, from obferving what figure it makes in a poem 
of Sir Richard Blackmore ; who, through ari extrava- 
gant perverfity of tafte, felecled it for the principal 
circumflance in his defcription ; and thereby, as Dr» 
Arburthnot humoroufly obferves, reprefented the 
mountain as in a fit of the cholick* 
c % 



3° SUBLIMIT? IN WRITING 

./Etna and all the burning mountains find 
Their kindled (lores with inbred ftorms of wind 
Blown up to rage, and roaring out complain, 
As torn with inward gripes and torturing pain ; 
Labouring, they caft their dreadful vomit round, 
And with their melted bowels fpread the ground. 

Such inflances fhow how much the fublime de- 
pends upon a proper feledtion of cireumftances ; and 
with how great care every circumftance muft be avoid- 
ed, which, by approaching in the fmalleft degree to> 
the mean, or even to the gay or trifling, changes the 
tone of the emotion. 

What is commonly called the fublime ftyle, is for- 
the mod part a very bad one, and has no relation * 
whatever to the true Sublime. Writers are apt to im- 
agine that . fplendid words, accumulated epithets, and a: 
certain fwelling kind of expreffion, by rifing above 
what is cuflomary or vulgar, conftitute the fublime ; 
yet nothing is in reality more faife. In genuine in- 
flances of fublime writing nothing of this kind appearg. 
iS God faid, let there be light j and there was light." 1 
This is linking and fublime ; but put it into what is 
commonly called the fublime ftyie : "The Sovereign, 
** Arbiter of nature, by the potent energy of a fingle 
* J word, commanded the light to exift j? and, as Boi- 
leau, jufily obferved, the ftyle is indeed raifed, but the 
thought is degraded. In general it may be obferved, 
that the fublime lies in the thought, not in the ex- 
pression ; and, when the thought is really noble, it 
will generally clothe itfelf in. a native majeily of lan- 
guage. 

The faults, oppofite to the Sublime, are principally 
two, the Frigid and the Bombaft. The Frigid qonfilb 



BEAUTY AND OTHER PLEASURES OF TASTE. Jt 

in degrading an objeft or fentiment, which is fublime 
in itfelf, by a mean conception of it ; or by a weak, 
low, or puerile defcription of it. This betrays entire 
abfence, or at leaft extreme poverty, of genius. The 
Bombaft lies in forcing a common or trivial objecT: out 
of its rank, and in labouring to raife it into the fub- 
lime ; or in attempting to exalt a fublime objeft be- 
yond all natural bounds.. 



BEAUTY AND OTHER PLEASURES OF 
TASTE.. 

BEAUTY next to Sublimity affords the higheft 
pleafure to the jm aviation. The emotion, which it 
raifes, is eafily diftinguifhed from that of fublimity. 
It is of a calmer kind \ more gentle and foothing ;., 
does not elevate the mind fo much, but produces a 
pleafmg ferenity. Sublimity excites a feeling, too 
violent to be lafting \ the pleafure proceeding from; 
Beauty admits longer duration; It extends alfo to a 
much greater variety of objects than fublimity ; to 
a variety indeed fo great, that, the fenfitions which, 
beautiful objects excite, differ exceedingly, not in de- 
gree only, but alfo in kind, from, each other. Hence 
no word is ufed in a more undetermined fignification 
than Beauty, It is applied to almoft every external 
obje£l, which pleafes the eye or the ear ; to many of 
the graces of writing \ to feveral difpofitions of the 
mind \ nay, to fome objects of ab (tract fcience. We 
fgeak frequently of a beautiful tree or flower y a. 



JZ BEAUTY AND OTHER 

beautiful poem ; a beautiful chara&er ; and a beau- 
tiful theorem in mathematicks. 

Colour feems to afford the fimpleft inftance of Beau* 
ty. Adbciation of ideas, it is probable, has fome in- 
fluence ort the pleafure, which we receive from col- 
ours. Green, for example, may appear more beautiful 
from being connected in our ideas with rural fcenes 
and profpeCts ; white with innocence ; blue with the 
ferenity of the iky. Independently of affociations- of 
this fort^ all that we can farther obferve refpe&ing- 
colours is, that thofe, chofen for Beauty, are common- 
ly delicate, rather than glaring. Such are the feathers 
of feveral kinds of birds, the leaves of flowers, and 
>tl\£ fine variation of colours, (hown by the iky at the 
riling and fetting of the fun. 

Figure opens to us forms of Beauty more complex: 
and diverfiSed. Regularity fi'rft offers itfelf as a 
fource of Beauty. By a regular figure is meant one % 
which we perceive to be formed according to fome 
certain rule, and not left arbitrary or loofe in the con- 
ftruction of its parts. Thus a circle, a fquare, a tri- 
angle, or a hexagon, gives pleafure to the eye by its 
regularity, as a beautiful figure , yet a certain graceful 
variety is found to be a much more powerful principle 
of Beauty. Regularity feems to appear beautiful to- 
ns chiefly, if not entirely, on account of its fuggefting 
the ideas of fitnefs, propriety, and Life, which have 
always a more intimate connexion with orderly and 
proportioned forms, than with thofe which appear 
not conltrucled according to any certain rule. Na- 
ture, who is the mod graceful artift, hath, in all her 
ornamental works, purfued variety with an apparent 
negleft of regularity. Cabinets, doors, and windows 



PLEASURES OF TASTE gg 

are made after a regular form, in cubes and parallelo- 
grams, with exa£t proportion of parts ; and thus 
formed they pleafe the eye ; for this juft reafon, that, 
being works of ufe, they are by fuch figures better 
adapted to the ends for which they were defigned. 
But plants, flowers, and leaves are full of variety and 
diverfity. A ftraight canal is an infipid figure, when 
compared with the meanders of a river. Cones and 
pyramids have their degree of beauty ; but trees, 
growing in their natural wildnefs, have infinitely 
more beauty, than when trimmed into pyramids and 
cones. The apartments of a houfe muft be difpofed 
with regularity for the convenience of its inhabitants^ 
but a garden, which is intended merely for beauty, 
would be extremely difgufting, if it had as much 
uniformity and order as a dwelling- houfe. 

Motion affords another fource of beauty, diftindi 
from figure. Motion of itfelf is pleafing ; and bod- 
ies in motion are, " caeteris paribus," univerfally pre- 
ferred to thofe at reft. Only gentle motion, however, 
belongs to the Beautiful ; for, when it is fwift, ©r very 
powerful, fuch as that of a torrent, it partakes of 
the fublime. The motion of a bird gliding through 
the air is exquifitely beautiful ; but the fwiftnefs 
with which lightning darts through the fky, is mag- 
nificent and aftonifliing. Here it is neceffary to ob- 
ferve, that the fenfations of fublime and beautiful are 
not always diftinguifhed by very diitant boundaries ; 
but are capable in many inftances of approaching to- 
ward each other. Thus a gently running ftream is 
one of the moil beautiful obje&s in nature \ but, as h 
fwells gradually into a great river, the beautiful by 
$egr$es is loft in the fublime. A young tree is 3 



34 BEAUTY AND OTHER*. 

beautiful obje£i ; a fpreading ancient oak is a venera- 
ble and fublime one. To return, however, to the 
beauty of motion, it will be found to hold very gener- 
ally, that motion in a ftraight line is not fo beautiful 
as in a waving direction ; and motion upward is com- 
monly more pleating than motion downward. The 
eafy, curling motion ox flame and Cmoke is an obje£fc 
Angularly agreeable. Hogarth obferves very ingen- 
ioufly, that all the common and neceffary motions 
for the bufinefs of life are performed in ftraight or 
plain lines ; but that alH4ie graceful and ornamental 
movements are made in curve lines ; an obfervation 
worthy of the attention of thofe who ftudy the grace 
of gefture and aft ion. 

Colour, figure, and motion, though feparate princi- 
pies of Beauty, yet in many beautiful obje&s meet to- 
gether, and thereby render the beauty greater and' 
more complex. Thus in flowers, trees, and animals, 
we are entertained at once with the delicacy of the 
colour, with the gracefulnefs- of the figure, and fome- 
times alfo with the motion of the objeft. The moft 
complete aiiemblage of beautiful objects, which can; 
be found, is reprefented by a rich natural Ian df cape,, 
where there is a fufficient variety of objects ; fields ia 
verdure, fcattered trees and flowers, running water, 
and animals grazing. If to thefe be added fome of 
the productions of art, fuitable to fuclx a fcene 5 as, a 
bridge with arches over a river, frrroke rifing from 
cottages in the mid it of trees, and a diitant view of 
a fine building, feen. by the rifing fun ; we then en- 
joy in the higheft perfe&ion that gay, cheerful, and 
glacid fenfatioii, which characterises Beauty.. 



•PLEASURES Or TASTE. 35 

The beauty of the human countenance is more 
complex than any we have yet examined. It compre- 
hends the Beauty of colour, arifing from the delicate 
fhades of the complexion ; and the Beauty of figure, 
arifing from the lines, which conftitute different fea- 
tures of the face. But the principal Beauty of the 
countenance depends upon a myfterious expreffion, 
which it conveys of the qualities of the mind ; of 
good fenfe, or good humour ; of candour, benevolence, 
fenfibility, or other amiable difpofitions. It may be 
obferved, that there are certain qualities of the mind, 
which, whether exprefled in the countenance, or by 
words or by a£lions, always raife in us a feeling fimilar 
to that of Beauty. There are two great clafles of 
moral qualities ; one is of the high and the great vir- 
tues, which require extraordinary efforts, and is found- 
ed on dangers and fufferings ; as, heroifm, magnanim- 
ity, contempt of pleafuresj and contempt of death. 
Thefe produce in the fpe&ator an emotion of fublimity 
and grandeur. The other clafs is chieily of the focial 
virtues ; and fuch as are of a fofter and gentler kind ; 
as, compaflion, mildnefs, and generofity, Thefe ex- 
cite in the beholder a fenfation of pleafure, fo nearly 
allied to that excited by beautiful external objev3s, 
that, though of a more exalted nature, it may with 
propriety be claffed under the fame head. 

Beauty of writing in its more definite fenfe charac- 
terizes a particular manner ; fignifying a certain grace 
and amenity in the turn either of ftyle or fentiment, 
by which fome authors are particularly difiinguifhed. 
In this fenfe it denotes a manner neither remarkably 
fublime, nor vehemently pafiionate, nor uncommonly 
fparkling ; but fuch as excites in the reader an emo 



36 BEAUTY AND OTHER 

tion of the placid kind, refembling that which is raff- 
ed by contemplation of beautiful objects in nature y 
which neither lifts the mind very high, nor agitates 
it to excefs ; but fpreads over the imagination a pleat- 
ing ferenity. Addifon is a writer of this chara&er, 
and one of the mod proper examples of it. Fenelon, 
the author of Telemachus, is another example. Vir- 
gil, alfo, though very capable of rifing occafionally into 
the fublime, yet generally is diftinguifhed by the char* 
after of beauty and grace, rather than of fublimity. 
Among orators, Cicero has more of the beautiful 
than Demofthenes, whofe genius led him wholly to- 
ward vehemence and ftrength. 

So much it is neceflary to have faid upon the fub- 
je£t of Beauty 5 fince next to fublimity it is the mod 
copious fource of the Pleafures of Tafte. But obje£ts 
delight the imagination not only by appearing under 
the forms of fublime or beautiful \ they likewife de- 
rive their power of giving it pleafure from feveral 
other principles. 

Novelty, for example, has been mentioned by Addi- 
fon, and by every writer on this fubje£t. An obje£t 
which has no other merit than that of being new, 
by this quality alone raifes in the mind a vivid and 
an agreeable emotion. Hence that paffion of curiofi- 
ty, which prevails fo generally in mankind. Objects 
and ideas which have long been familiar, make too 
faint an impreffion, to give an agreeable exercife to 
our faculties. New and ftrarige obje£ts roufe the 
mind from its dormant ftate, by giving it a fudden 
and pleafing impuife. Hence, in a great meafure, 
the entertainment we receive from fiftion and ro- 
mance. The emotion, raifed by Novelty is of a 



PLEASURES OF TASTE. 37 

more lively and awakening nature, than that produc- 
ed by Beauty ; but much (horter in its duration. 
For, if the obje£l have in itfelf no charms to hold 
our attention, the glofs, fpread over it by Novelty, 
foon wears off. 

Imitation is another fource of pleafure to Tafte. 
This gives rife to what Addifon terms the Secondary 
Pleafures of Imagination, which form a very exten- 
five clafs. For all imitation affords fome pleafure to 
the mind ; not only the imitation of beautiful or fub- 
lime objects, by recalling the original ideas of beauty 
or grandeur, which fuch objects themfelves exhibited ; 
. but even obje&s which have neither beauty nor gran- 
deur ; nay, fome which are terrible or deformed, 
give us pleafure in a fecondary or reprefented view. 

The pleafures of melody and harmony belong alfo 
to Tafte. There is no delightful fenfation, we receive 
either from beauty or fublimity, which is not capable 
of being heightened by the power of mufical found. 
Hence the charm of poetical numbers ; and even of 
the concealed and loofer meafures of profe. Wit, 
humour, and ridicule, open likewife a variety of pleaf- 
ures to Tafte, altogether different from any that have 
yet been confidered. 

At prefent it is not neceffkry to purfue any farther 
the fubje£l of the Pleafures of Tafte. We have opened 
fome of the general principles •, it is time now to ap- 
ply them to our chief fubjett. If it be aiked, to what 
clafs of thofe Pleafures of Tafte, which have been 
enumerated, that pleafure is to be referred, which we 
receive from poetry, eloquence, or fine writing ? The 
anfwer is, not to any one, but to them all. This pe- 
culiar advantage writing andr difcourfe poffefs 5 they 



38 BEAUTY AND OTHER PLEASURES OF TASTE. 

encompafs a large and fruitful field on all fides, and 
have power to exhibit in great perfection, not a fingle 
fet of objects only, but alrnoft the whole of thofe 
which give pleafure to tafte and imagination ; whether 
that pleafure arife from fublimity, from beauty *n its 
various forms, from defign and art, from moral fenti«- 
ments, from novelty, from harmony, from- wit, humour, 
or ridicule. To which foever of thefe a perfon's tafte 
is directed, from fome writer or other he has it al- 
ways in his power to receive the gratification of it. 

It has been ufual among critical writers to treat of 
difcourfe, as the chief of all the imitative arts. They 
compare it with painting and with fculpture, and in 
many refpetts prefer it juftly 'before them. But we 
mud diftinguifh between imitation and defcription* 
Words have no natural refemblance of the ideas or 
obje£ts which they fignify 5 but a itatue or picture 
has a natural likenefs of the original. 

As far, however, as a poet or hiftorian introduces 
into his work perfons really fpeaking, and by words, 
which he puts into their mouths, reprefents the con^- 
verfation which they might be fuppofed to hold ; fo 
far his art may be called imitative - 9 and this is the 
cafe in all dramatick compofition. But in narrative or 
defcriptive works it cannot with propriety be fo call- 
ed. Who, for example, would call Virgil's defcrip^- 
tion of a temped in the firft JEndd an imitation of a 
ftorm ? If we heard of the imitation of a battle, ws 
mio'ht naturally think of fome mock fight, <?r repre- 
fentation of a battle on the itage - ? but mould never 
imagine it meant one of Homer's defcriptions in th$ 
Iliad. It muft be allowed at the fame time, that imi- 
tation and dcfcription agree in their principal effect, that 



SRlClN AND PROGRESS Qt LANGUAGE. 3£ 

#f recalling by external Ggns the ideas of things 
vhich we do not fee. But though in this they coin^. 
cide, yet it fhould he remembered, that the terms 
themfelves are not fynonymous , that they import dif- 
ferent means of producing the fame end ; and eonfe* 
quently make different impreflions on the iriincL 



ORIGIN AND PROGRESS Of LANGUAGE. 

-L O form an adequate idea of the Origin of 
Language, we muft contemplate the circumftances of 
mankind in their earlieft and rudeft Rate. They were 
then a wandering, fcattered race ; no fociety among 
them except families ; and family fociety alfo very 
imperfe£, as their mode of living, by hunting or paf- 
turage, muft have feparated them frequently from 
each other. In fuch a condition, how could any one 
fet of founds or words be univerfally agreed on, as 
the figns of their ideas ? Suppofing that a few, whom 
chance or neceffity threw together, agreed by forne 
means upon certain figns -, yet, by what authority 
could thefe be fo propagated among other tribes or 
families, as to grow up into a language ? One would 
imagine that men muft have been previoufly gathered 
together in confiderable numbers, before language 
could be fixed and extended ; and yet on the other 
hand there feems to have been an abfolute neceffity of 
fpeech previous to the formation of fociety. For 
by what bond could a multitude of men be kept to- 
gether, or be connected in profecution of any cotru 
jnon mtereft, before by the affiftance ©f fpeech they 



40 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 

could communicate their wants and intentions to each 
ether ? So that, how fociety could fubfift previoufly to 
language, and how wards could rile into language be- 
fore, the formation of fociety, feem to be points at- 
ed with equal "difficulty. When we con fider far- 
ther that curious analogy which prevails in the coti- 
llion of alrnoft all languages, and that deep and 
fubtile logic!; on which they are founded , difficulties 
in us on all fides, that there feems 
ring the origin of all 

. " to ha~ve a divine original, 
Vi \;n:e tji§t a .):r{-f\ fyftem of it was at 

ii: : given to man. It is much more natmval to fup- 
pofe that God taught our firft parents only fuch lan- 
guage as fuited their prefent cccafions ; leaving them, 
as he did in other refpecAs, to enlarge and improve it 
%$ their future neceflkiss fhould require. Confequent- 
]y, thofe rudiments of fpeech mud have been poor and 
r.arrow 5 and we are at liberty to inquire, in what 
manner, and by what fteps, language advanced to the 
ft ate in which we now find it. 

Should we fuppofe a period exifted before words 
v/ere invented or known ; it is evident that men 
could have no other method of communicating their 
feelings, than by the cries of paiilon, accompanied by 
fuch motions and geftures, as were farther expreffive 
of emotion, Theie indeed are the only figns which 
nature teaches all men, and which are understood by 
all. One, who faw another going into fome place, 
where he hirnfelf had been frightened, or expofed to 
danger,, and who wifhed to warn his neighbour of the 
dingpXj could contrive no other method of doing % 



ORIGIN AND PROGRE3S OF LANGUAGE. 4 1 

fhan by uttering thofe cries, and making thofe geflures, 
which are the figns of fear ; as two men at this day 
would endeavour to make themfelves underftood by 
each other, if thrown together on a defolate ifland, 
ignorant of each other's language. Thofe exclama- 
tions, therefore, by grammarians called interjections, 
uttered in a ftrong and paiTionate manner, were un- 
doubtedly the elements of fpeech. 

When more enlarged communication became requi- 
site, and names began to be applied to objedts ; how 
can we fuppofe men proceeded in this application of 
names, or invention of words ? Certainly by imitating, 
as much as they could, the nature of the object nam- 
ed by the found of the name given to it. Asa paint- 
er who would reprefent grafs, mud employ a green 
colour ; fo in the infancy of language one, giving a 
name to any thing harfh or boiitero-us, would of courfe 
employ a harih or hohlerous found. He could not 
do otherwife, if he defired to excite in the hearer the 
idea of that object which he wiihed to name. To 
imagine words invented, or names given to things, 
without any ground or reafoir, is to fuppofe an effect: 
without a caufe. There muft always have been feme 
motive which led to one name, rather than another ; 
and we can fuppofe no motive, which would more 
generally operate upon men in their firft efforts to- 
ward language, than a defire to paint by fpeech the 
objects which they named in a manner more or lefs 
complete, according as it was in the power of the 
human voice to effetl this imitation. 

Wherever objsfts- were to be named, in which 
found, noife, or motion was concerned, the imitation 
i>j words was fuffieiently obvious. Nothing was mere 
V a 



4 2 ©RIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 

natural, than to imitate by the found of the voice the 
quality of the found or noife which any external ob- 
ject produced \ and to form its name accordingly. 
Thus in all languages we difcover a multitude of 
words, which are evidently conftru£ted on this prin- 
ciple. A certain bird is called the Cuckoo, from the 
found which it emits. When one fort of wind is 
faid to whifihy and another to roar ; when a ferpent 
is faid to hifs ; a fly to buzz ; and falling timber to 
crajh ; when a dream is faid to flow, and hail to rattle ,• 
the refemblance between the word and the thing fig- 
nified is plainly difcemible. But in the names of 
objects which adurefs the fight only, where neither 
noife nor motion is concerned ; and ftill more in 
terms, appropriated to moral ideas, this analogy ap- 
pears to fail. Yet many learned men have imagined 
that, though in fuch cafes it becomes more obfcure, 
it is not altogether loft % and that in the radical words 
of all languages there may be traced fome degree of 
correfpondence with the objects fignified. 

This principle however of a natural relation between 
words and objects, can be applied to language only in 
Its mofl firnple and early ftate. Though in every 
tongue fome remains of it may be traced, it were ut- 
terly in vain to fearch for it through the whole con- 
ftru£tion of any modern language. As terms increafe 
in every nation, and the vail field of language is fill- 
ed up, words by a thoufand fanciful and irregular 
methods of derivation and compofition deviate widely 
from the primitive character of their roots, and lofe 
all refemblance in found of the things fignified. 
This is the prefent ftate of language. Words, as we 
mow ufe theirs taken in general, may be confidereci I 



•StlGltf AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 4$ 

m fymbols, not imitations ; as arbitrary or inftituted, 
not natural figns of ideas. But there can be no doubt 
that language, the nearer we approach to its rife 
among men, will be found to partake more of a nat- 
ural expreffion. 

Interjections, it has been fhown, or paflionate ex- 
clamations, were the elements of fpeech. Men la- 
boured to communicate their feelings to each other 
by thofe expreflive cries and geftures, which nature 
taught them. After words, or names of objects, be- 
gan to be invented, this mode of fpeaking by natural 
figns could not be all at once difufed. For language 
in its infancy mud have been extremely barren ; and 
there certainly was a period among all rude nations^ 
when converfation was carried on by a very few 
words, intermixed with many exclamations and earn* 
eft geftures. The fmall flock of words which men 
then pofieiTed, rendered thofe helps entirely necefTary 
for explaining their conceptions ; and rude, unculti- 
vated individuals, not having always ready even the 
few words, which they know, would naturally labour 
to make themfelves underftood by varying their tones 
of voice, and by accompanying their tones with the 
moft expreflive gefticulations. 

To this mode of fpeaking, neceffity gave rife. But 
we muit obferve that, after this neceffity had in a 
great degree ceafed, by language becoming in procefs 
of time more extenfive and copious, the ancient man* 
ner of fneech ftill fubfifted among many nations j and* 
what had arifen from neceffity, continued to be ufed 
for ornament. In the Greek and Roman languages, a 
mufical and gefticulating pronunciation was retained 
4n a very high degiee. Without attending to this, w$ 



4\ ORIGIN ANI!) PROGRESS CV LANGUAGE. 

Stall be at a 3ofs in underftanding feveral paflages of 
the Clafficks, which relate to the publick fpeaking and 
theatrical entertainments of the ancients. Our mod- 
ern pronunciation would have feemed to them a life- 
lefs monotony. The declamation of their orators and 
the pronunciation of their actors upon the ftage ap- 
proached to the nature of recitative in mufick; was 
capable of being marked by notes, and fupported by 
iiiftruments ; as feveral learned men have proved. 

With regard to gefture, the cafe was parallel ; for 
flrong tones and animated geftures always go together. 
The action both of orators and players in Greece 
and Rome was far more vehement than that to 
which we are accuftomed. To us, Rofcius would ap- 
pear a madman, Gefture was of fuch confequence on 
the ancient ftage, that thJre is reafon for believing that 
o-n fume occufions the fpeaking and the acting were 
divided ; which, according to our ideas, would form 
a ftrange exhibition. One player fpoke the words in 
the proper tones, while another exprefled the corref- 
pondlng motions and geftures. Cicero tells us, it was 
a conteft between him and Rofcius, whether he could 
exprefs a fentiment in a greater variety of phrafes, or 
Rofcius in a greater variety of intelligible fignificant 
geftures. At laft, gefture engrofled the ftage entirely ; 
for uader the reigns of Aug a ft us and Tiberius, th* 
favourite entertainment of the publick was the Panto- 
mime, which was carried on by gefticulation only. 
The people were moved, and wept at it as much as at 
tragedies \ and the paffion for it became fo violent^ 
that Jaws were made for reftraining the fenators from 
ftudying the pantomime art. Now, though in decla- 
{&tfio£s wd theatrical exhibition? both toue *c4 gef* 



ORIGIN 4ND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 



<s 



ture were carried much farther than in common &££. 
courfe ; yet publick fpeaking of any kind muft in ever^ • 
country bear fome proportion to the manner which 
is ufed in conversation ; and fuch pubiick entertain* 
Lts could never be reliflied by a nation whofe tones 
and geftures in difcourfe were as languid as ours. 

The early language of men, being entirely compof- 

ed of words descriptive of ieniible objects, became of 

extremely metaphorical. For, to ugnify any 

.or any act or feeling of the mind, 

:I expreffion which was appropriated 

:e obliged to paint the emo- 

on, which they felt, by alluding to thofe 

ieniible objects which had moil connexion with it£ 

and which could render it in fbme degree vifible to 

others. 

But it was not neceftity alone, that gave rife to this 
pictured ftyle. In the infancy of all focieties, fear 
■and furprife, wonder and aftonifhment, are the moil 
frequent paffions of men. Their language will nec- 
effarily be affecled by this character of their minds. 
They will be difpofed to paint every thing in the 
ftrongeft colours. Even the manner, in which the firft 
tribes of men uttered their words, had confiderablc 
influence on their ftyle. Wherever ftrong exclama- 
tions, tones, and geftures are connected with conver- 
fation, the imagination is always more e^ercifeij a 
greater effort of fancy and paffipn is c:; 
Thus the fancy, being kept awake :.:: 

htlv by this mode of utterance, operates upon 
iuy-c, and gives it additional life and fpirit. 

As one proof among many, which might be pro- 
duced of the truth of thefe cbfervations, we fhaJJ 



4*5 /ORIGIN and progress of language. 

tr^afcribe a fpeech from Colden's Hiftory of the Five 
Indian Nations, which was delivered by their Chiefs, 
when entering on a treaty of peace with us, in the 
following language. "We are happy in having buri- 
" ed under ground the red axe, that has fo often been 
u died in the blood of our brethren. Now in this 
" fort we inter the axe, and plant the tree of peace. 
u We plant a tree, whofe top will reach the fun •, and 
u its branches fpread abroad, fo that it (hall be feen 
M afar off. May its growth never be ftifled and chok- 
" ed ; but may it {hade both your country and ours 
" with its leaves ! Let us make faft its roots, and ex- 
* c tend them to the utmoft of your colonies. If the 
" French fhould come, to fhake this tree, we mould 
u know it by the motion of its roots reaching into our 
u country. May the Great Spirit allow us to reft in 
u tranquillity upon our mats, and never again dig up 
M the axe, to cut down the tree of peace ! Let the 
<c earth be trodden hard over it, where it lies buried. 
u Let a ftrong dream run under the pit, to walh the 
u evil away out of our fight and remembrance. The 
" fire, that had long burned in Albany, is extinguiih- 
u ed. The bloody bed is warned clean, and the tears 
u are wiped from our eyes. We now renew th« 
" covenant chain of friendship. Let it be kept bright 
cc and clean as filver, and not fuffeted to contract any 
w ruft. Let not any one pull away his arm from it** 
As language in its progrefs grew more copious, it 
gradually loft that figurative ft yie, which was its early 
character. The vehement manner of fpeaking by 
tones and geftures became lefs common. Inftead of 
poets, philofophers became the inftruftors of men ; 
and in their reafoning on all fubje£ts introduced that 



USE AND PROGRESS OP LANGUAGE, &C 47 

plainer and more fimple llyle of compofition which we 
now call Profe. Thus the ancient metaphorical 
and poetical drefs of Language was at length laid 
afide in the intercourfe of men, and referved for thofe 
occafions only, on which ornament was profeffedly 
iiudied. 



RISE AND £ROGRE8S OF LANGUAGE AND 
OF WRITING. 

VV HEN we examine the order in which the. 
Words are arranged in a fentence, we find a very 
remarkable difference between ancient and modern 
tongues. The confideration of this will ferve to un- 
fold farther the genius of Language, and to fliew the 
eaufes of thofe alteration^, it has undergone in the 
progrefs of fociety. 

To conceive diftin£Uy the nature of this alteration, 
we mult go back, as before, to the earned period of 
Language. Let us figure to ourfelves a Savage be- 
holding fome fruit, which he earneftly defires, and re- 
.quefts another to give him. Suppofe him unac- 
quainted with words, he would flrive to make himfelf 
imderftood by pointing eagerly at the obje£l defired, 
and uttering at the fame time a paffionate cry. Sup- 
pofing him to have acquired words, the firil word 
which he would utter would be the name of that ob- 
ject. He would not exprefs himfelf according to our 
order of conRru£tion, " Give me fruit ," but accord- 
ing to the Latin order, " Fruit give me," " Fruclum 
4( da mini/* for this plain reafon, that his attention was 
wholly directed toward fruit, the object defired* 



4? RISE AND PROGRESS 0» 

Hence we might conclude a priori^ that this was the or- 
der in which words were mod commonly arranged in 
the infancy of Language ; and accordingly we find in 
reality that in this order words are arranged in mod of 
the ancient tongues, as in the Greek and Latin ; and it 
is faid Kkewife in the Ruffian, Sclavonick, Gaelick 
and feveral American tongues. 

The modern languages of Europe have adopted a 
different arrangement from the ancient. In their profe 
competitions very little variety is admitted in the col- 
location of words ; they are chiefly fixed to one order, 
which may be called the Order of the Underflanding. 
They place firft in the fentence the perfon or thing, 
which fpeaks or acts •, next, its a£iion ; and laftly, the 
obje£l of its a£lion. Thus an Englifti writer, paying: 
a compliment to a great man, would fay, " It is im» 
f( poffible for me to pafs over in filence fo diftinguifh- 
cc ed mildnefs, fo Angular and unheard of clemency, 
ci and fo uncommon moderation, in the exercife of 
" fupreme power,"' Here is firft prefented to us the 
perfon who fpeaks, " It is impoflible for me ;" next, 
what the fame perfon is to do, " to pap over in filence ;* 
and laftly, the objedt which excites him to action, 
" the mildnefs, clemency, and moderation of his pa* 
tron."' Cicero, from whom thefe words are tranflat- 
ed, reveries this order. He begins with the obje£t \ 
places that firft, which was the exciting idea in the 
fpe'aker's mind, and ends with the fpeaker and his ac- 
tion. " Tantarn manfuetudinem, tarn inuiitatam in- 
Ci auditamque clementfam, tantumque in fumma pc- 
" teftate rerum omnium mod urn, tacitus nullo modo 
" pneterlre poffum." Here, it mutt be obferved, the 
Latin order is more animated \ the Englifli more clear 
and diftinch 



LANGUAGE AND OF WRITING. 49 

Our language naturally allows greater liberty for 
tranfpofition and inverfion in poetry, than in profe. 
Even there however this liberty is confined within nar- 
Tow limits, in comparifon with the ancient languages. 
In this refpeCt, modern tongues vary from each other. 
The Italian approaches the neareft in its character to 
the ancient tranfpofition ; the Englifn has more in- 
verfion than the reft 5 and the French has the leaft 
of all. 

Writing is an improvement upon Speech, and con- 
fequently was pofterior to it in order of time. Its 
characters are of two kinds, figns of things, and figns 
of words. Thus the pictures, hieroglyphicks, and 
fymbols, employed by the ancients, were of the for- 
mer fort ; the alphabetical characters, now employed 
by Europeans, of the latter. 

Pidures were certainly the firft attempt toward 
writing. Mankind in all ages and in all nations have 
been prone to imitation. This would foon be em^ 
ployed for defcribing and recording events. Thus, to 
fignify that one man had killed another, they painted 
the figure of one man lying on the ground, and of 
another (landing by him with a hoftile weapon in his 
hand. "When America was firft difcovered, this was 
the only kind of writing with which the Mexicans 
were acquainted. It was however a very imperfeCt 
mode of recording faCts \ fmce by pictures external 
events only could be delineated. 

Hieroglyphical characters may be considered as the 
fecond ftage of the Art of Writing. They confift of 
certain fymbols, which are made to ftand for invifible 
objeCts on account of their fuppofeA refemblance of 
the objeCts themfelves. Thus an eye reprefented 

i 



4J& SUSE AND PROGRESS OF 

knowledge; and a circle, having neither beginning 
nor end, was the fymbol of eternity, Egypt was the 
Country where this kind of writing was moil ftudiedj 
and brought into a regular art. JBy thefe chara&ers 
all the boafted wifdorn of their priefts was conveyed. 
They pitched upon animals to be the emblems of 
moral obje£ts, according to the qualities with which 
they fuppofed them to be endued. Thus imprudence 
was denominated by a fly \ wifdorn, by an ant \ and 
vi£tory, by a hawk. But this fort of writing was m 
.the higheft degree enigmatical and confufed ; and 
confequently a very imperfect vehicle of knowledge. 

From hieroglyphicks fome nations gradually advanc- 
ed to fimple arbitrary marks, which flood for objects, 
though without any refemblance of the objefls fignifi- 
ed. Of this nature was the writing of the Peruvians. 
They ufed fmall cords of different colours ; and by 
-knots upon thefe, of different fizes and varioufly rang- 
ed, they invented ligns for communicating their 
thoughts to one another. The Chinefe at this day ufe 
written characters of this nature. They have no al- 
phabet of letters or fimple founds of which their 
words are compofed*, but <every fingle chara£ter, 
which they ufe, is expreilive of an idea ; it is a mark 
which figniiies fome one thing or object. The num- 
ber of thwfe chara&ers muft confequently be immenfe* 
They are faid indeed to amount to feventy thoufand. 
To be perfectly acquainted with them is the bufinefs 
of a whole life; which muft have greatly retarded 
among them the progrefs of every kind of fcience. 

It is evident that the Chinefe characters, like hiero- 
glyphicks, are figns of things, and not of words. For 
we are told, that the Japanefe, the Tonquinefe, and 



LANGUAGE AND OF WRfTlNG. 51 

the Corceans, who fpeak different languages from 
each other, and from the inhabitants of China, ufe, 
fcowever, the fame written characters with them, and 
thus correfpond intelligibly with one another in writ- 
ing, though mutually ignorant of each other's lan- 
guage. Our arithmetical figures, i> 2, 3, 4, &c are 
an example of this fort of writing. They have no 
dependence on words % each figure reprefents the 
number for which it (lands ; and confequently is 
equally underftood by all nations, who have agreed in 
the ufe of thefe figures. 

The firft ftep, to remedy the imperfection, the 
ambiguity, and the tedioufnefs of each of the methods 
of communication, which have been mentioned, was 
the invention of figns, which fhould (land not dire£t- 
ly for things, but for words by which things were 
named and diftinguiChed. An alphabet of fylla-- 
bles feems to have been invented previoufly to 
an alphabet of letters. Such a one is faid to be 
retained at this day in ^Ethiopia and fome countries 
of India, But at bed it mult have been imperfect 
and ineffectual \ fince the number ef characters, be- 
ing very conuderable, mud have rendered both read- 
ing and writing very complex and laborious. 

To whom we are indebted for the fublime and re- 
fined difcovery of letters is not determined. They 
were brought into Greece by Cadmus, the Phoenician, 
who, according to Sir Isaac Newton's Chronology, 
was contemporary with king David. His alphabet 
contained only fixteen letters. The reft were after- 
ward added, according as figns for proper founds were 
found to be wanting. The Phoenician, Hebrew, 
Greek, and Roman alphabets agree fo much in th# 



52 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 

figure, names, and arrangement of the letters, a* 
amounts to demonftration, that they were derived 
originally from the fame fource. 

The ancient order of writing was f?om the right 
hand to the left. This method, as appears from fome 
very old inscriptions, prevailed even among the Greeks. 
They afterward ufed to write their lines alternately 
from the right to the left, and from the left to the 
right. The infcription on the famous Sigaean monu- 
ment is a fpecimen of this mode of writing, which 
continued till the days of Solon, the celebrated Legis- 
lator of Athens. At length, the motion from the 
left hand to the right, being found more natural and 
convenient, this order of writing was adopted by all 
the nations of Europe." 

Writing was firft exhibited on pillars and tables of 
ftone ; afterward on plates of the fofter metals. As 
it became more common, the leaves and bark of cer- 
tain trees were ufed in fome countries ; and in oth- 
ers, tablets of wood, covered with a thin coat of foft 
wax, on which the impreffion was made with a ftylus of 
iron. Parchment, made of the hides of animals, was 
an invention of later times. Paper was not invented 
before the fourteenth century. 



STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 

X HE common divifion of Speech into eight 
parts, nouns, pronouns, verbs, participles, adverbs, pre- 
pofitions, interjections, and conjunctions, is not'very 
accurate ; fince under the general term of nouns it 
comprehends both fubftantives and adjedives, which 



STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE, 53 

are parts of fpeech eflentially diftin£t. Yet as we 
are mod: accultomed to this divifion, and, as logical 
exattnefs is not neceflary to our prefent defign, we 
(hall adopt thefe terms, which habit has made fa- 
miliar to us, 

Subftantive nouns are the foundation of Grammar, 
and the mo ft ancient part of fpeech. When men had 
advanced beyond firnple interjections or exclamations 
of paffion, and had begun to communicate their ideas 
to each other, they would be obliged to affign names 
to objects by which they were furrounded. Where- 
ever a favage looked, he beheld forefts and trees. To 
diilinguifn each by a feparate name would have been 
endlefs. Their common qualities, fuch as fpringing 
from a root, and bearing branches and leaves would 
fuggeft a general idea and a general name. The ge- 
nus, tree, was afterward fubdivided into its feveral fpe- 
cies.of oak, elm, aih, &e. upon experience and obfsr- 
vationi. 

Still however onlygeneral terms were ufed in fpeech. 
For oak, elm* and afh, were names of whole clafles of 
objects, each of which comprehended an immenfe 
number of undiftinguifhed individuals* Thus, when 
the nouns man, lion, or tree were mentioned in con- 
verfation, it could not be known, which man, lion, or 
tree was meant among the multitude, comprehended 
under one name. Hence arofe a very ufeful contriv- 
ance for determining the individual obje£t intended, 
by mean of that part of fpeech called the Article. 
In Englifh, we have two articles, a and the ; a is mors 
general, the more definite. The Greeks had but one, 
which agrees with our definite article the. They fup=* 
pti ed the place of our article a by the abfence of their 
£ 2 



54 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 

article 5 thus Avfyowoi; fignifies a man, A^aro; thi 
man. The Latins had no article ; but in the room of 
it ufed the pronouns hie, ille, ifte. This, however, 
feems a defe& in their language ; fmce articles cer- 
tainly contribute much to perfpieuity and precifion. 

To perceive the truth of this remark, obferve the 
different imports of the following expreffions : " The 
u fon of a king, the fon of the king, a fon of the king's " 
Each of thefe three phrafes has a feparate meaning, 
too obvious to be mifunderftood. But, in Latin, 
u filius regis" is entirely undetermined ; it may bear 
cither of the three fenfes mentioned. 

Befide this quality of being defined by the article, 
three affe&ions belong to nouns, number, gender and 
cafe, which deferve to be confidered. 

Number, as it makes a noun fignificant of one or 
more, is fmgular or plural , a diftinflion found in all 
tongues, which muft have been coeval with the ori- 
gin of language, fince there were few things, which 
men had more frequent neceffity of expreffing, than 
the diftindion between one and more. In the He- 
brew, Greek, and fome other ancient languages, we 
find not only a plural, but a dual number ; the origin 
of which may very naturally be accounted for, as fep- 
arate terms of numbering were yet, undifcovered, and 
one, two, and many, were all, or at leaft the principle 
numeral diftin&ions, which men at firft had any occa- 
fion to make. 

Gender, which is founded on the diftin£lion of 
the two fexes, can with propriety be applied to the 
names of living creatures only. All other nouns ought 
to be of the neuter gender. Yet in moft languages 
the fame diftin&ion is applied to a great number of 



STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 5J 

inanimate obje£ls. Thus, in the Latin tongue, enfis> a 
fword, is mafculine 5 faglttu^ an arrow, is feminine \ 
and this affignation of fex to inanimate objefts often 
appears entirely capricious. In the Greek and Latin, 
however, all inanimate obje£ts are not diftributed into 
mafculine and feminine ; but many of them are claff- 
ed, f where all ought to be, under the neuter gender ; as 
faxum, a rock ; mare, the fea. But in the French and 
Italian tongue, the neuter gender is wholly unknown, 
all their names of inanimate objects being put upon the 
fame footing with thofe of living creatures, and diftrib- 
uted without referve into mafculine and feminine. In 
the Englifh language, all nouns, literally ufed, that are 
the names of living creatures, are neuter ; and ours is, 
perhaps, the only tongue (except the Chine fe, which 
is faid to refemble it in this particular) in which th* 
diftin£tion of gender is philofophically applied. 

Case denotes the ftate or relation which one ob- 
ie£l bears to another, by fome variation of the name 
of that obje£t ; generally in the final letters, and by 
fome languages in the initial. All tongues, however* 
do not agree in this mode of expreffion. Declenfion 
is ufed by the Greek and Latin \ but in the Englifh, 
French, and Italian, it is not found ; or, at mot, it exifts 
in a very imperfeft ftate. Thefe languages exprefs 
the relations of objects by prepofitions, which are the 
names of thofe relations prefixed to the names of 
obje£ls. Englifh nouns have no cafe, except a fort 
of genitive, commonly formed by adding the letter $ 
to the noun ; as when we fay " Pope^s D unclad/* 
meaning the Dunciad of Pope. 

Whether the moderns have given beauty or utility 
to language, by the abolition of cafes, may perhaps be 
doubted. They have, however, certainly rendered it 



$6 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE* 

more fimple, by removing that intricacy which arofe 
from different forms of declenfion, and from the ir- 
regularities of the feveral declenfions. But in ■■ obtain- 
ing this (implicity, it muft be confeffed, we have filled 
language with a multitude of thofe little words, call- 
ed prepofitions, which, by perpetually occurring ia 
every fentence, encumber fpeech ; and by. rendering it 
more prolix, enervate its force. The found of modern 
language is alfo lefs agreeable to the ear, being depriv- 
ed of that variety and fweetnefs, which, aroie from, 
the length of words, and the change of terminations, 
occaiionecl by cafes in the Greek and Latin; But per- 
haps the greats ft difadvantage we fuftain by the abo- 
lition of cafes, Is the lofs of that liberty of tranfpofi- 
tion, in the arrangement of words, which the ancient: 
languages enjoyed. 

Pronouns are the representatives of "nouns, and are; 
fubjedt to the fame modifications of number, gender,- 
and cafe. We may obferve, however, that the pro- 
nouns of the firft and fecond perfon, /and thou, have; 
no diftinftion of gender in any language ; for, as they 
always refer to perfons prefent, their fex muft be. 
known, and therefore needs not to be marked by their, 
pronouns. But, as the third perfon may be abfent,., 
or unknown, the diftin£tion of gender there becomes 
requifite ; and accordingly in Englifti it hath all three 
genders, he,Jhe, it. 

Adjectives, zsjirong, weak, handfome, ugly, are the 
pjaineft and mo ft fimple in that clafs of words, which 
are termed* attributive. They are common to alt lan- 
guages, and muft have been very early invented \ fince 
objects could neither be diftinguiflied nor treated o£ 
in difcourfe, before, names were ^ffigned to their dif* 



STRUCTURE 0? LANGUAGE. 57 



STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. ENGLISH 
TONGUE. 

v^F all the parts of fpeech, Verbs are by far the 
aioft complex and ufeful. From their importance w« 
may juftly conclude, that they were coeval with the 
origin of language ; though a long time mult have 
been requifite to rear them up to that accuracy which 
they now poflefs. 

The tenfes were contrived to mark the feveral 
diftindiions of time. We commonly think of no more 
than its three great divifions, the paft, the prefent, 
and the future ; and we might fuppofe that, if verbs 
had been fo contrived as merely to exprefs thefe, no 
more was necefiary. But language proceeds with 
much greater fubtilty. It divides time into its fever- 
al moments ; it regards it as never (landing ftill, but 
always flowing ; things paft, as more or lefs diftant ; 
, and things future, as more or lefs remote by different 
gradations. Hence the variety of tenfes in almoii 
every language. 

The prefent may indeed be always regarded as one 
indivifible point, which admits no variety ; " I am/' 
**fum" But it is not fo with the paft. Even the 
pooreft language has two or three tenfes to exprefs 
its varieties. Ours has four. 1. A paft a£Hon may 
be reprefented as unfinifhed, by the imperfect tenfe j 
" I was walking, ambulabam" a. As finifhed by the 
perfeft tenfe, " I have walked/' 3. As finifhed fome 
time fmce, the particular time being left undetermin- 
ed ; "I walked, ambulavi :" this is what gramma* 



5? STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE* 

rians call an aorifl or indefinite paft. 4. As finiffiecf' 
before fomething elfe, which is alfo paft. This is 
the plufquamperfedi \ " I had walked, ambulaverarh* 
u I had walked before you called upon me." Our' 
language, we muft perceive with pieafure, has an ad- 
vantage over the Latins which has only three varia- 
tions of paft time. 

The varieties in future time are two ; a fimple or 
indefinite future 5 u i (hall walk, ambulabof and a 
future having reference to fomething. elfe, which is 
likewife future ; " I {hall have walked, amhulavero \ 
u I fhall have walked, before he will pay me a vifit. J> 

Befide tenfes, verbs admit the diftin£tion of voices* 
viz. the active and paffive ; as, " I love, or I am loved." 
They admit alfo the diilin£fcion of modes, which are 
intended to exprefs the perceptions and volitions of 
the mind under different forms. The indicative mode 
(imply declares a propofition ; " 1 write \ I have 
u written." The imperative requires, commands, or 
threatens y " Write thou •, let him write." The fub- 
jun£Hve exprefles a propofition under the form of a 
condition, or as fubordinate to fomething to which 
reference is made ; Ci I might write , I could write ; 
"I fhould write, if the matter were fo." This expref- 
fion of the perceptions and volitions of the mind in 
fo many various forms, together with the diiiindlion of 
the three perfons, 2, thw % and he, conftitutes the con- 
jugation of verbs, which makes fo great a part of the 
Grammar of all languages. 

Conjugation is reckoned mo ft perfect in thofe Ian* 
guages, which, by varying the termination, or the initial 
fyllable of the verb, exprefles the greateft number of 
important circumftances without the help of auxiliary 



STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE, 59 

werbs. In the Oriental tongues verbs have few tenfes ; 
but their modes are fo contrived, as to exprefs a 
great variety of circumftances and relations. In the 
Hebrew they fay in one word, without the aid of an 
auxiliary, not only, " I taught," but, " I was taught -> I 
■" caufed to teach ~ 9 I was caufed to teach ; I taught 
4€ ircyfelf." The Greek, which is commonly thought 
to be the mod perfect of all languages, is very regular 
and complete in the modes and tenfes. The Latin, 
though formed on the fame model, is not fo perfect ; 
particularly in the pafiive voice, which forms moft of 
the tenfes by the aid of the auxiliary " fum" In. 
modern European tongues, conjugation is very defec- 
tive. The two great auxiliary verbs, to have^nA to be, 
with thofe other auxiliaries, which we ufe in Englifh, 
.do,Jhail i € wiI/>may>av.d£a?2) prefixed to a participle, or 
to another verb in the infinitive mode, fupercede in a 
great meafure the different terminations of modes 
and tenfes which formed the ancient conjugations. 

The other parts of fpeech, as they admit no varia- 
tion, will require only a ihort difcuffion. 

Adverbs are for the moft part an abridged mode of 
fpeech, expreffing by one word what might, by a cir- 
cumlocution, be refolved into two or more words be- 
longing to other parts of fpeech. " Here/' for re- 
liance, is the fame with " in this place." Hence ad- 
verbs fe^m to be lefs neceffary, and of later introduc- 
tion into fpeech, than feveral ether clafles of words ; 
and accordingly moft of them are derived from other 
words, formerly eftabiifhed in the language. 

Prepof tions and conjunctions ferve to exprefs the 
relations which things bear to one another, their mu- 
tual influence, dependence, and coherence *, and fo te 



f# * ENGLISH TONGUE. 

join words together, as to form intelligible propofitloiiS* 
Conjunctions are commonly employed for connecting 
fentences, or members of fentences , as, and> beccufe, 
and the like. Prepofitions are ufed for connecting 
words ; as, of from > to, &c. The beauty and ftrength 
of every language depend in a great meafure on a 
proper ufe of conjunctions, prepofitions, and thofe 
relative pronouns, which ferve the fame purpofe of 
connecting different parts of difcourfe. 

Having thus briefly confidered the StruCture of 
Language in general, we will now enter more particul- 
arly into an examination of our own Language. 

The Englifli, which was fpoken after the Norman 
Conqueft, and continues to be fpoken now, is a mix- 
ture of the ancient Saxon and the Norman French, to- 
gether with fuch new and foreign words, as commerce 
and learning have, in a fucceffion of ages, gradually 
introduced. From the influx of fo many ftreams, 
from a junction of fo many diffimilar parts, it natur- 
ally follows, that the Englifli, like every compounded 
language, mud be fomewhat irregular. We cannot 
expeCt from it that complete analogy in ftruCture, 
which may be found in thofe Ampler languages, which 
were formed within themfelves, and built on one 
foundation. Hence our fyntax is fhort, fmce there are 
few marks in the words themfelves which {how their 
relation to each other, or, point out either their con- 
cordance or their government in a fentence. But if 
thefe be difadvantages in a compound language, they 
are balanced by the advantages which attend it, par- 
ticularly by the number and variety of words by 
which fuch a language is commonly enriched. Few 
languages are more copious than the Englifli. In all 



;lish tongue. 6i 

i 
grave fubjefl : torical, critical, political, 

and moral, no complaint can juftly be made of the 

;ue. We are rich too in the lan- 

./ry; our poetical (ty! idely from 

t with refpe£t to numbers only, but in the 

themfelves ; which proves what a com- 

pafs and variety of words we can felecl and employ, 

>ns. Herein we are infinite- 
ly fuperior to the French, whofe poetical language, if 
: were not diftiogu yme, weuld not be 

■ "•.eir ordinary profe. Their 
uage, however, furpaffes ours in exp: 'fling what- 
ever is delicate, gay, and amufing. It is, perhaps, the 
happieft languag conversation in the known 

world; but for the higher fubjecto of compofition, 
the Englifh is juftly confidered as far fuperior to it. 

The flexibility of a language, or its power of be- 
coming either grave and ftron'g, or eafy and flowing, 
or tender and gentle, cr pompous and magnificent, as 
occafions require, is a quality of great importance 
in fpeaking and writing. This depends on the co- 
pioufnefs of a language ; the different arrangements 
of which its words are fufceptible , and the variety 
and beauty of the founds of its words. The Greek 
poffeffed thefe requifites in a higher degree than 
any other language. It fuperadded the graceful vari- 
ety of its different dialects ; and thereby readily af- 
fumed every kind of character, an author could wifh, 
from the mod Ample and familiar, to the moil majef- 
tick. The Latin, though very beautiful, is inferior ha 
this refpeft to the Greek. It has more of a fixed 
character of ftatelinefs and gravity \ and is fupported 
by a certain fenatorial dignity, of which it is difficult 



62 



ENGLISH TO' 



for a writer to diveft it. Among modern tongue^ 
the Italian p&fleffes much more flexibility than the 
Trench ; and feerns to be on the whole the mod per- 
fect of all the modern diale&s which have arifen out 
of the ruins of the ancient. Our language, though 
unequal to the Italian in flexibility, is not deftitute 
of a confiaerable degree of this quality. Whoever 
confiders the cliverfity of ftyle in feme of our beft wri- 
ters, will difcover in our tongue fuch a circle of ex- 
preflion, fuch a power of accommodation to the vari- 
ous taftes of men, as redounds much to its honour. 

Our language has been -thought to be very deficient 
in harmony of found \ yet the melody of its verifica- 
tion, its power of fu ; poetical numbers, with- 
< ut the , of rhymes is a fufRcient proof, that 
- is far unharrnonious. Even the hiding 
found of which it has been aecufed, obtains lefs fre- 
quently, than has been fufpecled. For in many 
words, and in the final fyllables efpecially, the letter 
j- has the found of 2, which is one of the founds on 
which the ear refts with pleafure ; as in has^ thft s 
. hves^ke ar x, &c. 

It jnuft however be admitted, that Pmbotlinefs i-s 
not the diftinguiihing property cf the Erigliih tongue. 
Strength and e-xprellivenefs, rather than grate and mel- 
ody, conftitute its character. It poxTefTes alfo the prop- 
erty of being the moil limpleof ail the European diale£is 
in its form and conftruciion, It is free from the intrica- 
cy of cafes, declenfions, modes, and tenfes. Its words 
are fubje£l to fewer variations from their original form* 
than thofe cf any other language. Its nouns have no 
diflineiion of gender, except what is made by nature ; 
und but one variation in cafe. Its adjectives admit 
no change, except what express the degree of 



ENGLISH' TONGUE, 6 



j 



companion. Its verbs, inftead of the varieties c 

[y four or live changes in 
s and auxiliary 
the ncancy' *, while the 

principal words for the n F 'e their forrri 

unaltered. Fence our language -acquires a fi 
and facility, which are the caufe of its 
jy written : i with inaccuracy. We iif 

ine tt II in it may be acquired with- 

out : *, and that in a fyntax la narrow and 

limited as ours, there is nothing which requires at- 
tention. But the fundamental rules of fyntax are 
common to the Erlglifh and to the ancient tongues ; 
and regard to them is abfelutely requisite for writ 
or Cpeaking with propriety. 

Whatever he the advantages or defects of our fen- 
guagej it certainly cleferves, in the higheft degree, our 
iludy and attention, The Greeks and Romans in the 
meridian of ihelrgloryj bellowed i :ft cultivation 

on their refpeclive languages, TheFrench and Italians 
Lave employed much fiudy upon theirs; and their ex> 



e is w 


- of imitation. For, whatever knowl- 




jq gained by the iludy of other languages, 


it can 


r be communicated with advantage, unlefs 


by thole wl 


lo can write and fpeak their own language 




etv. Let the matter of an author be ever 



kQ good and ufefuh, his compofitions will always fufFev- 
in the pubiick efteem, if his expreffion he deficient in 
purity or propriety, At the fame time, the attainment 
of a correct and elegant (lyie is an object which de- 
mands application and labour. If any one fuppofe he 
can catch it merely by the ear, or acquire it by a 
perufal of feme of our good authors, he will be much 
ppointed, The many grammatical errors^ the 



6:\ STYLE; PERSPICUITY, AND PRECISION. 

many impure jexpreffiptiSj which are found in authors 

)m being c . tible, demonftrate 

: y of our age is previoufiy 

ite : ..ting it with propriety, purity, and 

nee. 



TCU1TY, AND PRECISION. 



inner in which a man 
s. ' It is a pidlure of 



The qu r a good ffyle maybe ranged under 

two heads, perfpicjuity and ornament. It will readily 
be admitted, that berfpicuity is the fundamental qual- 
ity of a good (lylel Wit - righteft orna- 
through toe darkj and perplex 
ad of pleafing the reader. If we be forced to fol- 
; care ; to paufe, and to read 
over his fentences a fecond time, in order to underftand 
them fully, he will not pleafe us long. Men are too 
to relifli fo much labour. Though they may 
ire an author's depth, after they have 
discovered his meaning, they will feldom be inclined 
to look a fecond time into his book. 

Per requires attention, firft to firlgle words 

phrafes, and then to the conftruflion of fentences. 

zn considered with refpecl to words and phrafes* 

itreq kefe three qualities, purity, propriety, and 

and propriety of 1; * are often ufed 

:r ; and indeed thev are 



STYLE, PERSPICUITY, ANB PRECISION. 65 

nearly allied. A diftinction, however, obtains 
between them. Purity is the ufe of fuch words and 
constructions as belong to the idiom of a part 
lar language, in opposition to words and phrafes 
which are imported from other languages; 'or 
which are obfolete, or newly coined, or employed 
without proper authority. Propriety is the choice 
of fuch words as the bell and moil eft . uiage 

has appropriated to thofe ideas which we int. 
to exprefs by them. It implies a con-eft and hap- 
py application of them, in opposition to vulgar or 
Tow expreffionsj and to words and phrafes lefs fignifi- 
cant of the ideas we intend to convey. Style may 
be pure, that is, it may be ftricUy Englifh without 
Scotticifms or Gallicifms, or ungrammatical expreiiions 
of any kind, and yet be deficient in propriety. The 
words may be illy fele£ted - 3 not adapted to the fub- 
je6t, nor fully expreilive of the authors mean! - 
He took them indeed from the general mafs of Eng- 
fifli words ; but his choice was made without 11: 
But flyle cannot be proper without being pure ; it is 
the union of purity and propriety, which renders it 
graceful and perfpicuous. 

The exact meaning of precision may be learnt from 
the etymology of the word. It is derived from "pro* 
* ; cidere" to cut off; and Signifies retrenching all fu- 
perfluities, and pruning the expreffion in fuch manner, ' 
as to exhibit neither more nor lefs than the ideas 
intended to be conveyed. 

Words, employed to exprefs ideas, may be faulty 
in three refpe£ts. They may either not exprefs the 
ideas which the author means, _ 1 ethers which 

are only related j or they may exprefs xsiok ideas, but 

* % 



not co 


mp 




(b T 






lift, n 




r Vt ,. 




ieives 


ur. 



66 STYLE, PERSPICUITY, AND PRECISION. 

*ly 5 or tl y may exprefs them toother 
i -g tii re titan* he intends. Preufion is 

a fe three faults ; but parti ulaily to the; 
feeble writers are very apt to fall! 

f a mu titude of words to make them- 

:1 odj as ihay hin T c, more dift'n£t- ' 
iy ; but thej only oriiound the reader. The: 
image, as they place it before you, is always 
doubie. i an author tells us of his hero's* 

courage in the cay of battle ; the expreffion is precile, 
and we underfland it [ully. Rut if$ fram a defire of 
multiplying words, he praife his courage zAid fortitude ; 
at the moment he joins tlieie words together, our 

idea begins to waver. He ihtends to exprefs one 

© i 

quality more iirongly ; but he is in fa£r. expjefling 
two. Courage refills danger '^fortitude fupports pain. 
The occadons of exerting the ities .are different ;» 

and, being. led to think of both i . wren only 

:'m (houid engage attenti . \ v is ren- 

i unfteady, and our conception of the objecV. 
indiitinil. 

The great Tcurce of a loofe flyle, the oppente of'' 
i, is the injudicious life of words called fy 
[y in any langus ;e are there two w 
that convey fely the lame idea,; and a perform 

perfectly ac( ited with the propriety of the lan- 
guage, will always be able to obferve. fomething by 
which they are diftinguiflied.. In our language many 
instances may be givenof difference in meaning among 
words, reputed fynonimous ; and, as. the fubjeft is 
important, we (hall point cut a few of them. 

Surpr'i&ds ajicmi/hed) amazed, confounded* We are 
furprifed at what is new or unexpected '; we are aC 
tcnilhed at what is vail or great j we are amwedafo 



STTYLS, PERSPICUITY, AND PRECISION 67 

what is incomprehenfible -, we are confounded by 
what is mocking < )r t r: 

pr'i » vanity, Pride mak^s us edeem ourfelves y 
Van; ; US d:fii rs. 

Hniightluef \ itinefs is founded on a 

high ►pinion oi uiiaclves $ diftlain on a low opinion.. 
of others. 

u weary to fa 'pus. Gbntini ; the lame thing 

wearies us ; labour fatigues us. A man is wearied* 
by (landing \ he is fatigued by walking. 

21? alh->r> todetejll To abhor imports rhnply ftrong; 
Siflike ; to deteia: i/nporrs likewife ilrong difapproba- 
tion. We abhor being in dubc ; we deteil treachery. 

To invent, to dij cover. We , invent things which are 
new \ we dlfeover what is hidden. Galileo invented 
the telefcope \ Harvey tiifcovertd the circulation o£\ 

Entire % complete^ A thing is entire, when it w; 
none of its parts ; complete, v,hen it wants none of 
the appendages v- ' jug to it: A man ma 

occupy an entire houfe 5 though he have not one ccn> 
plete apartment. 

Enough^]] Relent. Enough relates to the quantity,. 
which we wifli to have of a thing. Sufficient relates 

a ufe that is ro be \x\?Ac of it. Hence 
comnaoiiiy (igniHes a greater quantity than fuiikient 
does. The covetous man never has enough } though 
he has what is fufficient for natui e, 
I Thefe are a few among many inoolanoes of words in ■ 
our language, which by carelefs writers are apt to be. 
miftaken far fviiooinious. r rhe more che di:ti oQion 
in the f fuch - :>rds is regarded, the moroa 

jjKeurately and iorebly fliall we fpeak aau wrhe* 



6S STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 



STRUCTURE OE> SENT: 



PROPER conflruciioti of fentences is of 
fiich importance in every fpecies of compofition, that 
we cannot be too itri£t or minute in our attention to 
it. For, whatever be the fribjc&, if the fentences be 
conftru£ied in a clumfy, perplexed, or feeble manner, 
the work cannot be read with pleafure, nor even with 
profit. But by attention to thq rules which relate to 
this part of ftyle we acquire the habit of expreffing 
ourfelves with perfpicuity ana elegance \ and if a dif- 
order happen to arife in io me of cur fentences, we 
immediately fee where it lies, and are able to recti- 
fy it, 

The properties mole eileniur to a perfect fentencc 
are r following, I. filefrnefs. 2. Unity. 

3. Strength. 4. Harmony. 

Ambiguity is oppofed toclearnefs, and arifes from 
two caufes ; either from a wrong choice of words, or 
a wrc 3cationof them. Of the choice of words, < 

:irds perfpicuity, we have already fpoken. 
. ; ition of them we are now to treat. From 
the nature of our language a capital rule in the ar- 
irxt of our fentences is, that words or mem- 
bers mod nearly related, flfould be placed as near to 
each other :ble, that their .mutual relation may 

. : rule is frequently neglefted even 
od writers. A few initances will {how both its 
importance and application. 

In the pofitionof adverbs, which are ufed to qualify 
the figni'fication of fome thing which either precedes 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 6$ 

or follows them, a good deal of nicety is to be obftrv- 
M By greatnefs," fays AddiftH, " I do not only 
sail the bulk of any (ingle objeft, but the large- 
C4 mfsof a whole view." Here the place of the ad- 
verb only makes it limit the verb mean. " I do not on- 
" ly mean." The queftion may then be afked, What 
he more than mean ? Had it been placed after 
ftill it would have been wrong, for it might then 
ked, What is meant beOde the bulk P Is it the 
y other property ? Its proper place is after 
the v 'ecf : 4( By greatnefs I do not mean the 

: any tingle pfeje£t only j" for -then, when it 
is aiked, What does he mean more than the bulk of 
a fingle object ; the anfwer comes out precifely as the 
author intends, u the largenefs of a whole view." 
" Theifm/' lays Lord Shaftcfbury, u can only be oppof- 
u ed to polytheifm or atheifm." It may be a&ed 
" Is theifm capablex<f nothing die, except feeii 
to polytheifm or atheifm :" This is e words 

literally mean through the improper collocation of 
m/y. He ought to have faid, " Theifm can be oppof- 
" ed only to polytheifm or atheifm." inaccuracies of 
this kind occafion little ambiguity in common dif- 
courfe, becaufe the tone and emphafis, ufed by the 
fpeaker, generally make the meaning perfprcuous. J3ut 
in writing, where a perfon fpeaks to the eye, he ought 
to be more accurate ; and fo to connect adverbs with 
tthc words they q that his meaning cannot be 

aken on the firft infpeftion. 
When a circumflance is interpofed in the middle 
of a fentence, it fometimes requires attention to place 
it in fuch m timer as to divert, it of all ambiguity, 
Forinftance, " Are thefe deflgns," fays Lord Ec. 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 



broke, t( which .any man, who Is born a Briton, in any 



circaniitariC#(hiUanv fituadon, ought to he 



uned 



* f or afraid to avow ? ?> Here we are in doubt whether 
the phrafes, " in any ctrcumJkanceS) in any fiiuation^ be 
connected with u a man born in Britain j JJ or with that 
man's " avowing his defigns." If the latter, as feems 
mo ft likely, was intended to be the meaning, the ar- 
rangement ought to be this, " Are thefe defigns, which 
" any man who is born 'a Briton, ought to be afham- 
u ed or afraid in any ci re um fiances, in any fituarion,. 
"to avow ?" 

Still more attention is requisite to a proper difpofi- " 
tion of the relative pronouns <zvhc } which, whaty whofe ; 
and of all thofe particles which exprefs the connex- 
ion of the parts of fpeech. As all reafoning depends 
upon this connexion, we cannot, be too. accurate with 
regard to it. A fmair error may obfeure the meaning 
of a whole fentence ; . and even where the meaning. 
is apparent, yet if thefe relatives be mifplaeed, we 
always find fomething awkward and- disjointed in the 
ftrurlure of the period. The following paflage in Bifif- 
ep Sherlock's Sermons will exemplify thefe ofefefv 



toons : " I 
" the acci 



folly to pretend to arm ourfelves againfl 
its of life, by heaping up treafures which 
l protect us againft, but the good provi- 



heavenl 



Uhcr.' W hich gram mat ic- 

■ . which 



: e immediatejy preceding v. 

here is ;fures ;" a would convert the whole 

period into nonfenfe. The fentence fhould have been 

etend, by heaping- 
infl the accidents 



" Tt- 



ii 



o 



resj to arm 
fe, again ft nr ^* 
;ood providence of our heavenly Father*!* 



which nothing can protecl us, but. 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 



"We now proceed to the fecond quality of a well ar- 
ranged fentence, which we termed its unity. This 
is a capital property. The very nature of a f^fitence 
implies one proportion to be exprefTed. It may con- 
Git of parts s but thefe parts mufc he fo cfoWlj^t^and 
flier, as to make an ^^«B| one ohjecr^nl.y 
upon the mind, 

To prefcrve this unity, we- mufc fitft obferve, that 
during the courfe of the ferite fiMie£t. ihould be 

changed as little as poffibie. There is generally in ev- 
ery ft men ce ibme perfon or thing which is the gov- 
erning word. This mould be eontir/fftd fo, if poffibie 
from the beginning to the end of it Should a man 
exprefs h in this manner : " After we came to 

" anchor, thev put me on fhore, where I was fainted 
" by all my friends, who received me with the ^Tca<- 
" eft kindnefs"— Thoudi the obiects in t ence 

are fufScientlv connected ; vet, bv fiiifting fo often 
the fubject and perfon, we> they, I, and who y thev ; [ - 
pear in fo d ifuni ted a view, that the fenfe and connex- 
ion are nearly loir. The fentence is restored to its 

:r unity by eonilrucling it thus ; " 1 
" to anchor, 1 was put on (here, whe 
"by all my friends, who received sue e great- 

" eft kindnefs." 

The {econe rule is, nev 
ideas, which have fo littl 
well be divided into V 
of this rule never falls to 
indeed is fo 

extreme, to err rather ! 
than by one, that is 

a tvz 






its errect 



and coniuied. ihe 
aiion of Plutarch will 



72 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

juftify this opinion : " Their march," fays the author, 
fpeaking of the Greeks. " was through an uncultivat- 
i( eel country, whole favage inhabitants fared hardly, 
" having no other riches than a breed of lean fl 
" whole fie Lh was rank and nnfavoury ti of their 

"continual fading upon fea fifli." le fubjeft 

is repeatedly changej|. march of the Greeks, the 

dci'c. , through whofe country 

they -cc P, and the reafon 

of ti. fagreiable food, make a jui 

of T^%(^ e ^ t0 eac ^ other, which the 

reader c; at confiderable difhculty compre- 

hend in one view. 

The third rule for preferving the unity of a knt^ncc 
is, keep clear of parenthefes in the middle of it. Thefe 
may on fome occafions have a fpirited appearance, as 
prompted, by a certain vivacity of thought, which can 
glance happily afide, as it is going along. But in 
general their efreft is extremely bad ; being a perplex- 
ed method of difpofing of fome thought, which a wri- 
ter has not art enough to introduce in its proper place. 
It is needlefs to produce any inftances, as they occur 
fo frequently among Incorrect writers. 

The fourth rule for the unity of a fentence is, bring 
it to a full and perfect clofe. It needs not to be ob- 
ferved, that an unfinifhed fentence is no fentence with 
refpeft to grammar. But fentences often occur, which 
are more than finifhed. When we have arrived at 
what we expected to be the conclusion \ when we are 
come to the word, on which the mind is naturally led 
to reft ; unexpectedly fome circumfiance is added, 
which ought to have been omitted, or difpofed of elfo 
where. Thus, for inftance, in the following fentence 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 73 

from Sir William Temple the adje&ion to the fentence 
is entirely foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet's Theory 
of the Earth, and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds ; 
" The firft," fays he, " could not end his learned trea- 
" tife withouta panegyrick of modern learning in com- 
u parifon of the ancient ; and the other falls fo grofsly 
u into the cenfure of the old poetry, and preference of 
<c the new, that I could not read either of thefe ftrains 
u without fome indignation ; which no quality among 
" men is fo apt to raife in me, as felf fufficiency." 
the word " indignation" concludes the fentence •, for 
the lafl member is added after the proper clofe. 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

V V E now proceed to the third quality of a 
correct fentence, which we termed Strength. By th ls 
is meant fuch a difpofition of the feveral words and 
members as will exhibit the fenfe to the belt advan- 
tage ; as will render the impreffion, which the period 
is intended to make, mofl full and complete ; and 
give every word and every member its due weight and 
force. To the production of this effect, perfpicuity 
and unity are absolutely neceflary ; but more is 
requifite. For a fentence may be clear ; it may 
alfo be compaft, or have the requifite unity ; and 
yet, by fome unfavourable circumftance in the ftruc- 
ture, it may fail in that ftrength or Hvelinefs of im- 
preffion, which a more happy collocation would pro- 
duce. 



74 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

The firfl rule for promoting the flrength of a fen- 
tenceis, take from it all redundant words. Whatev- 
er can be eafily fupplied in the mind 5 is better omitted 
in the expreflion ; thus, " Content with ferving a tri- 
< c umph, he refuted the honour of it, " is better than 
ii being content with deferving a triumph, he refufed 
" the honour of it." It is one of the mod ufeful exer- 
cifes on reviewing what we have written, to contra£l 
that circuitous mode of expreffion, and to cut off 
thofe ufelefs excrefcences which are ufually found in 
a firfl; draught. But we muft be cautious of prun- 
ing fo clofely, as to give a hardnefs and drynefs to the 
i'lyie. Some leaves muft be left to fhelter and adorn 
the fruit. 

As fentences mould be cleared of fuperfluous words, 
fo alfo of fuperfluous members. Oppofed to this is 
the fault w r e frequently meet, the lad member of a 
period being only a repetition of the former in a dif- 
ferent drefs. For example, fpeaking of beauty, " The 
"very firfl: difcovery of it," lays Addifon, " ftrikes 
iC the mind with inward joy, and fpreads delight 
cs through all its faculties," In this inftan.ce fcarcely 
any thing is added by the fecond member of the fen- 
tenceto what was exprefled in the fit ft. Though the 
flowing ftyle of Addilbn may palliate fuch negligence, 
vet it is generally true, that language divefted of this 
prolixity is more firong and beautiful. 

The fecond rule for promoting the flrength of a 
fentence is, pay particular attention to the ufe of cop- 
ulatives, relatives, and particles, employed for tranfi*. 
tion and connexion. Some obfervations on this fttte 
je&, which appear ufeful, (hall be mentioned, 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

What is termed fplitting of particles, or feparating a 
prepoGtion from the noun which it governs, is ever 
to be avoided. For example, " Though virtue bor- 
" rows no affiftance from, yet it may often be ac- 
" corripanied by, the advantages of fortune," In fueli 
ances we fufferpain from the yiolent feparation of 
two things, which by nature are clolely united. 

The ilrength of a fentence is much injured by an 
unnecefiary multiplication of relative and demon- 
flracive parades. If a writer fay, 4i there is nothing 
u which difgufts me fooner than -.the empty pomp of 
" Fanguage ;" he exprefles hirnfelf lefs forcibly, than 
if he had laid, " Nothing fjifgufts me fooner than 
" the empty pomp of language" The former mode 
pfexpreffion in the introduction of a fubject, or in 
laying down a propoGtion, to which particular atten- 
tion is demanded, is very proper ; but in ordinary 
difcourfe the latter is far preferable. 

With regard to the r^Sll^^'fhaM only obierve, 
that in converfation and epiftolary writing it may be 
omitted *, but in compoGtions of a ferious or dignified 
kind it fhould conrdantiybe inferred. 

On the copulative particle and % which occurs fo o:~ 
ten, feveral observations are to be made. It is evident, 
that an unneceflary repetition of it enfeebles ftyle. 
By omitting it we often make a clofer connexion, ;i 
quicker fucceffion of objects, than when it is iriferted 
between them. " Veni % vidi, via" exprefies with 
more fpirit the rapidity of conqueft, than if connect- 
ing particles had been ufed. When, however, we 
wifhto prevent a quick tranGtion from one objeel to 
another j and when enumerating objecls which ws 
wifh to appear as diftindt from each other as pofli- 



/O STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

ble \ copulatives may be multiplied with peculiar ad- 
vantage. Thus Lord Boiingbroke fays with proprie- 
ty, " Such a man might fall a victim to power; but 
" truth, and reafon, and liberty, would fall with him." 

The third rule for promoting the Rrength of a fen- 
t^nce is, difpofe of the principal word or words in that 
part of the fentenee, where they will make the mod 
linking impreffion. Perfpicuity ought fir ft to be (ind- 
eed i and the nature of oar language allows no great 
liberty of collocation. In general the important words 
are placed at the beginning of a fenten.ee. Tims Mr. 
Addifon : t€ The pleafures of the imagination, taken 
" in their full extent, are not fo grofs as thofe of 
f( fenfej nor fo refined as thofe of the underftand- 
<c ing. n This order feerns to be the mod plain and 
natural. Sometimes, however, when we propofe giv- 
ing weight to a fentenee -it is ufeful to fufpend the 
meaning a little, and then to bring it out fully at the 
clofe. " Thus," fays Pope, u on whatever fide we. 
" contemplate Homer, what principally ftrikes us i& 
" his wonderful invention." 

The fourth rule for promoting the ftrength of fen- 
tences is, make the members of them go on riling in 
their, importance one above another. This kind of ar- 
rangement is called a climax, and is ever regarded as 
a beauty in compofitlon. Why it pleafes is fufficient- 
Ij evident. In all things we love to advance to what 
is more and more beautiful rather than to follow a 
retrograde order. Having viewed fome considerable 
obje£l, we cannot without pain defcend to an infe- 
riour circumftance. " Cavendum eft" fays Quintilian, 
c< tie decrefcat oratio } et foriior fubjungatur aliquid infirm 
u mm" A weaker affertion fhould never follow & 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES* 77 

flronger one ; and, when a fentence confifts of two 
members, the longed fhould in general be the con- 
eluding one. Periods, thus divided, are pronounced 
more eafily , and, the fhortefi member being placed 
fir ft, we carry it more readily in our memory, as we 
proceed to the fecond, and fee the connexion of the 
two more clearly. Thus to fay, u When our paflions 
<{ have forfaken us, we flatter ourfelves with the belief 
" that we have forfaken them," is both more grace- 
ful and more perfpicuous, than to begin with the 
longeft part of the propofition : " We flatter our- 
fl felves with the belief that we have forfaken our paf- 
" fions, when they have forfaken us." 

The fifth rule for conftru£Hng fentences with 
ftrength is, avoid concluding them with an adverb, a 
prepofition, or any infignifkant word. By fuch con- 
elufions ftyle is always weakened and degraded. Some- 
times, indeed, where the ftrains and fignificancy reft 
chiefly upon words of this kind, they ought to have 
the principal place allotted them. No fault, for ex- 
ample, can be found with this fentence of Baling- 
broke : "In their profperity my friends (hall never 
li hear of me *, in their aclverfity always ;" where 
4 never and afwayj, being emphatical words, are fo plac- 
ed as to make a ftrong impreffioit .But, when thefe 
inferiour parts of fpeech are introduced, as crreum- 
ftanqes, or as qualifications of more important words,_ 
they fhould always be difpofed of in the lea ft confpic- 
110 as parts of the period. 

We vays avoid concluding 3 Vza'^acc or 



meml: 



l fl c 



l->, uj 



15 muca bcijter to lay, " 
a z 



73 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

" wife men are often guilty," than to fay, cc Avarice- 
" is a crime which wife men are often guilty of."" 
This is a phrafeology which all correct writers fhun, 

A complex verb, compounded of a fimple verb and 
a fubfequent prepofition, is alfo an ungraceful con- 
clufion of a period ; as, bring about, clear up > give over % 
and many others of the fame kind \ inftead of which*, 
if a iimple verb be employed, it will terminate the 
fentence with more ftr-ength. Even the pronoun //, 
efpecially when joined with fome of the prepofitions,.. 
as, with it, in it> to it> cannot without violation of 
rrace be the concluuon of a fentence. Any phrafe, 
which expreffes a circumitance only, cannot conclude • 
a fentence without great inelegance. Circumftances 
indeed are like unftiapely Rones, in a building, which, 
try the fkill of >an artift where to place them with 
the lead offence. We fhould not crowd too many 
of them together ; but rather interfperfe them- in dif- 
ferent parts of the fentence, joined with the principal;, 
words on which they depend. Thus, for inftance, . 
when Dean Swift fays, " What I had the honour of 
" mentioning to your Lordfhip fome time ago in con- 
'* verfation, was not a new thought ;" thefe two cir- 
cumftances, fome time ago and in converfation % which are 
joined, would have been better feparated thus : 
€i What I had the honour fome time ago of mention-- 
a ing to your Lordlhip in converfation." 

The fixth and lad rule concerning the flrength of a- 
fentence is this, in. the members of it, where two 
things are compared or contrafted ■;, where either re- 
femblance or opposition is to be expreffe.i ; iocat re- 
femblance in the language and coiiftruUion ought to 
be ohferved. The following paflage from Pope's pre*. 



HARMONY OF SENTENCES, 7£ 

face to his Homer beautifully exemplifies this rule. 
f 1 Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better 
f< artift ; in the one we admire the man; in the other 
" the work. Homer hurries us with a commanding 
" impetuofity ; Virgil leads us with an attractive maj- 
" efty. Homer fcatters with a. generous profufion 5 
" Virgil beftows with a careful munificence. Homer, , 
" like the Nile, pours out his riches with a fudden 
" overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a 
*' conftant dream. . When we look upon their ma- 
w chines, Homer feerns like his own Jupiter in his ter- 
u rors, (baking Olympus, fcattering lightnings, and fir- 
*' ing the" heavens- Virgil like the fame power in his 
<c benevolence, coun.felling with the gods, laying plans : 
" for empires, and ordering his whole creation." Peri- 
ods, thus conftrucied, when introduced with propriety, 
and not too frequently repeated, have a fenfible beau- 
ty. But, if fuch a .conftru£lion be aimed at in every 
fentence, it betrays into a difagreeable uniformity, 
and produces a regular jingle in the period, which 
tires the ear, and plainly difcavers affectation. 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. HARMONY-. 

XX WING confidered fentences with regard 
to their meaning under the heads of Perfpicuity, 
Unity, and Strength; we fhall now coniider them 
with refpe£l to their found. 

In the harmony of periods two things are to be con- 
fidered. Firft, agreeable found or modulation in geae- 
calj without any particular expreffion. Next, the found . 



So HARMONY OF SENTENCES 

fo ordered as to become exprefiive of the fenfe. Thff 
fir ft is the more common •, the fecond the fuperiour 
beauty. 

The beauty of mufical conflru£iion depends upon 
the choice and arrangement of words. Thofe words 
are mod pleafing to the ear, which are compofed of 
fmooth and liquid founds, in which there is a proper 
intermixture of vowels and confonants without too 
many harfti confonants, or too many open vowels in 
fucceflion. Long words are generally more pleafing, 
to the ear than monofyllables \ and thofe are the molt 
mufical, which are not wholly compofed of long and 
fhort fyliabies, but of an intermixture of them ; fuch 
as delight^ amufe, velocity, celerity, beautiful, impetuofity.. 
If the words, however, which compofe a fentence, be 
ever fo well chofen and harmonious ; yet, if they be 
unfkilfully arranged, its mufick is entirely loft. As an. 
inftance of a mufical fentence, we may take the fol- 
lowing from Milton : " We ihall conduft you to a 
** hill fide, laborious indeed at the firft afcent \ but 
u elfe, fo fmooth, fo green, fo full of goodly profpecls 
s< and melodious founds on every fide, that the harp 
<c of Orpheus was not more charming*" Every thing 
in this fentence confpires to render it harmonious. 
The words are well chofen ', laborious, fimoth, green, 
gpodIy y melodious, charming ; and fo happily arranged,, 
that no alteration can be made without injuring the 
melody. 

There are two things on which the mufick of a fen- 
tence principally depends ; thefe are, the proper dif- 
fcribution of the feveral members of it, and the cloia 
or cadence of the \fchole« 



HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 8f 

Firft, the diftribution of the feveral members fhould 
be carefully regarded. Whatever is eafy to the or- 
gans of fpeech, is always grateful to the ear. While 
a period advances, the termination of each member 
forms a paufe in the pronunciation ; and thefe paufes 
fhould be fo diftributed, as to bear a certain mufical 
proportion to each other. This will be be ft illuftrat- 
ed by examples. " This difcourfe concerning the eafi- 
<5 nefs of God's commands does all along fuppofe and 
" acknowledge the difficulties of the firft entrance up* 
" on a religious courfe ; except only in thofe perfcns. 
" who have had the happinefs to be trained up to relig- 
" ion by the eafy and infenfible degrees of a pious and 
<c virtuous education." This fentence is far from be* 
ing harmonious, owing chiefly to this, that there is but 
one paufe in it, by which it is divided into two mem- 
bers \ each of which is fo long as to require a confid- 
erable ftretch of breath in pronouncing it. On the 
contrary, let us obferve the grace of the following paf- 
fage from Sir William Temple, in which he fpeaks 
farcaftically of man. u But, God be thanked, his 
u pride is greater than his ignorance ; and what he 
u wants in knowledge he fupplies by fufficiency* 
<c When he has looked about him as far as he can, 
" he concludes there is no more to be feen ; when he 
" is at the end of his line, he is at the bottom of the 
" ocean ; when he has {hot his beft, he is fure none , 
" ever did, or even can (hoot better, or beyond it, 
*' His own reafon he holds to be the certain meafure 
u of truth \ and his own knowledge, of what is poffr- 
u ble in nature." Here every thing is at once eafy to 
the breath, and grateful to the ear. We mud how* 



§2 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 

ever obferve, that if cornpofition abound with fen- 
tences which have two many reds, and thefe placed at 
intervals apparently meafured and regular, it is apt to 
favour of affectation. 

The next thing which demands attention, is the 
clofe or cadence of the period. "The only important 
rule, which can here be given, is this, when we aim 
at dignity or elevation, the found ihould increafe to 
the lad ; the longed members of the period, and the 
fulled and mod fonoro us words fhould be refervedfor 
the conclufion As an indance of this the following 
fentence of Addifon may be given. " It fills the mind 
" with the largeit variety of ideas ; converfes with its 
" objects at the greateii didance ; and continues the 
u longed in action without being tired or fatiated with 
u its proper enjoyments " Here every reader mud be 
fenfible of beauty in the jud diftribution of the paufes, 
and in the manner of rounding the period, and of 
bringing it to a full and harmonious clofe. 

It may be remarked, that little words in the conclu- 
fion of a fentence are as injurious to melody, as they 
are inconiiltent with drength of expreifion. A mufic- 
al clofe in our language feems in general to require 
either the lad fyllable, or the lad but one, to be a long 
fyllable. Words which confid chiefly of feort fylla- 
bles, as contrary^ particular^ retrofpeEi^ feldom terminate 
a fentence harmonioufly, unlefs a previous run of long 
fyllables have rendered them pleafmg to the ear. 

Se?.ftences, however, which are fo condrufted as to 
make the found always fwell toward the end, and red 
either on the laft or penult fyllable, give a difcourfe the 
tone of declamation. If melody be not varied, the ear 
is foon cloyed with it. Sentences conftrufted in tht 



HARMONY OF SENTENCES, 83 

fame manner, with the paufes at equal intervals, (hould 
never fucceed each other. Short Sentences mud be 
blended with long and fwelling ones, to render dif- 
ccurfe Sprightly as well as magnificent 

We now proceed to treat of a higher Species of 
harmony; the found adapted to the fenfe. Of this 
we may remark two degrees. Firft, the current of 
found Suited. to the tenor of a diScourSe. Next, a pecu- 
liar refemblance effe£led between feme obje£t and the 
founds that are employed in describing it. 

Sounds have in many refpecls an intimate corres- 
pondence with our ideas ; partly natural, partly pro- 
duced by artificial aiTociations. Hence any one modu- 
lation of found continued, Stamps on ftyle a certain 
character and exprefiion. Sentences, conftru£ted with 
Ciceronian fullneSs, excite an idea of what is import- 
ant, magnificent, and Sedate. But they Suit no vio- 
lent paffion, no eager reaSoning, no familiar addreSs. 
Thefe require meaSures brificer, eafier, and often more 
abrupt. It were as ab Surd to write a panegyrick and 
an inventive in a ftyle of the fame cadence, as to Set 
the words of a tender love-Song to the tune of a war- 
like march. 

Be fide the general correspondence of the current of 
Sound with the current of thought, a more particular 
exprefiion of certain objefts by reiembling founds 
may be attempted. In poetry this reSemblance is 
chiefly to be Sought. It obtains Sometimes indeed in 
proSe. competition ; but there in an inferiour degree* 
The founds of words may be employed for repre- 
senting chiefly three claiTss of objects % firft, other 
Sounds^ Secondly, motions 5 and thirdly, the emotion! 
and paflions of the mind. 



84 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 

Iii mod languages the names of many particular 
founds are fo formed, as to bear fome refemblance of 
the found which they fignify ; as with us the ivhift- 
ling of winds, the buzz and hum of infects, the hifs of 
ferpents, and the crafh of falling timber ; and many 
other iiiftanees, where the name is plainly adapted to 
the found it reprefents. A remarkable example of 
this beauty may be taken from two pafiages in Mil- 
ton's Paradife Loft \ in one of which he defcribes 
the found, made by the opening of the gates of hell \ 
in the other, that made by the opening of the gates 
of heaven. The contrail between the two exhibits to 
great advantage the art of the poet. The flril is the 
opening of hell's gates j 



On a fudden open fly 



With impetuous recoil and jarring found 
Th' infernal doors ; and on their hinges grate 
Harfli thunder. 

Obferve the fmoothnefs of the other ; 

Heaven open'd wide 

Her ever during gates, harmonious found ! 
On golden hinges turning 

In the fecond place the found of words is frequent- 
ly employed to imitate motion ; as it is fwift or 
flow, violent or gentle, uniform or interrupted, eafy 
or accompanied with effort. Between found and 
motion there is no natural affinity ; yet in the imag- 
ination thare is a ftrong one ; as is evident from t*he 
connexion between mufick and dancing. The poet 
can therefore give us a lively idea of the kind of mo~ 
tion he would defcribe> by the help of founds which 



HARMONY OF SENTENCES* 8jJ 

in oar imagination correfpond with that motion. 
Long fyllables naturally excite an idea of flow motion 3 
.as in this line of Virgil, 

0111 interfefe magna vi brachia tollunt, 

A fucceffion of fhort fyllables gives the impreflioa 
of quick motion ; as, 

Sed fugit interea, fugit trreparabile tcmpu*. 

The works of Homer and Virgil abound with in- 
stances of this beauty ; which are fo often quoted and 
fo well known, that it is unnecefiary to produce them. 

The third fet of obje&s, which the found of words is 
capable of reprefenting, confifts of emotions and paf- 
fions of the mind. Between fenfe and found there 
appears to be no natural refemblance. But if the ar* 
xangement of fyllables by their found alone recall one 
fet' of ideas more readily than another, and difpofe 
the mind for entering into that affe£Hon which the 
poet intends to raife ; fuch arrangement may with 
propriety be faid to refemble this fenfe. Thus, when 
pleafure, joy, and agreeable obje&s are defcribed by 
one who feels his fubjefl, the language naturally 
runs in fmooth, liquid, and flowing numbers. 



-Namque ipfa decor am 



Csfariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventas 
Purpureum, et laetos oculis afflarat honores. 

Brifk and lively fenfations exa& quicker and more 
animated numbers. 



-Jnvenum manus eaaicat ard«rt 



ikittiuin Hcfpenum, 



$6 ORIGIN AND NATURE 

Melancholy and gloomy fubje&sare naturally cott- 
*ie£ted with flow meafures and long words. 

In thofe deep folittides and awful, cells, 
Where heavenly penfive contemplation dwells. 

Abundant inftances of this kind are fuggefted by a 
moderate acquaintance with good poets, either ancient 
$r modern. 



ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FIGURATIVE 
LANGUAGE. 

JL IGURES may be defcribed to be that language 
which is prompted either by the imagination or paffions. 
They are commonly divided by rhetoricians into two 
great elaffes, figures of words, and figures of thought. 
The former are commonly called tropes, and confift in 
a word's being ufed to fignify fomething different from 
its original meaning. Hence, if the word be changed 
the figure is deftoyed. Thus, for inftance, " light 
€( arifethto the upright in darknefs." Here the trope 
confifts in " light and darknefs" not being taken liter- 
ally, but fubftituted for comfort and adverfity ; to 
which conditions of life they are fuppofed to bear fomc 
refemblance. The other clafs, termed figures of 
thought, fuppofes the figure to confift in the fenti- 
ment only, while the words are ufed in their literal 
fenfe ; as in exclamations, interrogations, apoftro- 
phes, and comparifons \ where, though the words be 
varied, or tranflated from one language into another, 
fcke feme figure is ftili preferred. This diftm&ioi: 



OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 87 

however" is of fmall importance ; as practice cannot 
be afliited by it - 9 nor is it always very perfpicuous. 

Tropes are derived in part from the barrennefs of 
language ; but principally from the influence, which 
the imagination has over all language. The imagina- 
tion never contemplates any om idea of object as An- 
gle and alone, but as accompanied by others which 
may be confidered as its acceflbries. Thefe acceffo- 
ries often operate more forcibly upon the mind, than 
the principal idea itfelf. They are perhaps in their 
nature more agreeable, or rnore fa miliar to our con- 
ceptions •, or remind us of a greater variety of import- 
ant circumftances. Hence the name of the accefiory 
or correfpondent idea is fabftituted 5 although tli^ 
principal has a proper and well known name of its 

\m. Thus, for example,' when' we defign to 
point out the period in which a ft ate enjoyed molt 
reputation or glory, we might eafily employ the prop- 
er words for expreihng this ; but as this in our imag- 
ination is readily connected with the fioufifhing peri- 
od of a plant or tree, we prefer this correfpondent 
idea and fay, " The Roman Empire flourished moil 
if under ■ Auguftus." The leader of a faction is a plain 
expreflion $ but, becaufe the head is the principal part 
of the human body, and is fuppofed to direct all the 
animal operations y refting on this refemblance, we 
fay, u Catiline was the head of his party. 5 ' 

We fhall now examine, why tropes and figures con- 
tribute to the beauty and grace of ftyle. By them lan~ 
guage is enriched, and made more copious. Hence 
words and phrafes are multiplied for exprefling all 
forts of ideas *, for defcribing even the fmalleft differ- 
ences % the niceft Andes and colours of thought $ 



$b ORIGIN AND NATURE 

which by proper words alone cannot poffibly be ex- 
prefled. They alfo give dignity to ftyle, which is de- 
graded by the familiarity of common words* Figures, 
have the fame effe£t on language, that a rich and 
fplendid apparel has on a per/on of rank and dignity. 
tn profe cornpofitions affiftanfce of this kind is often 
requihte ; to poetry it is effential. To fay, " the fun 
" rifes/' is common and trite ; but it becomes a mag... 
ttiScent image, a$ expreifed by Thomfon : 

But yonder comes the powerful king of day- 
Rejoicing in the eaft. -— 

Figures fumffh the pleafure of enjoying two obje&s^ 
prefented at the fame time to our view* without con- 
j&fiojj.} the princiapl idsa.together with its acceflbry,, 
which gives it the figurative appearance. When, f5r~ 
example, inftead of " youth/' we fay, " the morning 
11 of life ;" the fancy is inftantly entertained with all 
the correfponding circumftances between thefe two 
©bjeds. At the fame inftant we behold a certain pe- 
riod of human life, and a certain time of the day fo; 
conne&ed, that the imagination plays between tbem 
with delight, and views at once two fimilar objects* 
without embarraffment. 

Figures are alfo attended with the additional advan- 
tage of giving us a more clear and ftriking view of 
the principal objeft, than if it were exprefled in fim- 
ple terms and freed from its acceiTory idea. They 
exhibit the objecfr, on which they are employed, in a. 
pi£turefque form \ they render an abftract conception 
Jn fome degree an object of fenfe \ they furround it 
with circutn (lances, which enable the mind to lay hold 
of it fteadily, and to contemplate it fully. By a well? 



<3F FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 89 

adapted figure, even convi£lion is affifted, and a truth 
is impreffed upon the mind with additional livelinefs 
and force. Thus in the following pafiage of Dr. 
Young : " When we dip too deep in pleafure, we 
"always ftir a fediment, that renders it impure and 
u noxious." When an image prefents fuch a r^fem- 
blance between a moral and fenfible idea, it ferves like 
an argument from analogy, to enforce what the au- 
thor advances, and to induce belief. 

All tropes being founded on the relation which 
one obje£l bears to another, the name of the one may 
be fuhttituted for that of the other •, and by this the 
vivacity of the idea is generally increafed. The rela- 
tion between a caufe and its effect is one of the firft 
and Hioft obvious. Hence the caufe is fometimes fie- 

o 

uratively put for the- effed, Thus Mr> Addifon, writ- 
ing of Italy, fays, , 

Blbffomsj and fruits, and flowers together rife, 
And the whole year in g?.y confuiion lies. 

Here the " whole year" is plainly meant to fignify 
the productions of the year. The effe£t is alio often 
put for the caufe \ as " grey hairs" for " old age," 
which produces grey hairs \ and •" (hade," for the 
"trees," which caufe the fnade. The relation be- 
tween the container and the thing contained is io in- 
timate and apparent, as naturally to give rife to tropes* 

Tile impiger haufit 



Spumantem pater am, et pleno fe proluit auro. 

Where it is obvious, that the cup and gold are put 
for the liquor, contained in. the golden cup. The 
name of a country is often uicd to fignify Its inhabit- 



%® OftlGlN OF NATURE, $C& 

ants. To pray for the afiiftarice of Heaven is the fame » 
with praying for the afliftance of God, who is in heav- 
en. The relation between a fign and the thing figni-* 
fied is another fource of tropes. Thus, 

Cedant arma togas ; concedat laurea lingual. 

Here the "toga," which is the badge of the civil 
profeffions, and the ■* laurel," that of military honours^ . 
are each of them put for the civil and military charac- 
ters themfelves. Tropes, founded on thefe feveral re- 
htions of caufe and effetLt, container and contained, 
fign and thing fignified, are called by the name of me- 
tonymy. 

When a trope is founded on the relation between 
an antecedent and^ its. confequent, it is called a meta- 
lepils ; as in the Roman phrafe, " fuit," or " vixit, J> 
to fignify that one was dead. " Fuit Ilium et ingens 
" gloria Teucrum" espreiles that the glory of Troy 
Is no more. 

When the whole is put for a part, or a part for the 
whole ; a genus for a fpecies, or a fpecies for a genus \ 
the Angular number for the plural, or the plural for 
the fmgular \ in general, when any thing Id's,- or any 
thing more, is put for the precife cbje£i meant ; the 
figure is then termed a fyF,eedoche. We fay, for in- 
fiance, c< A fleet of fo many .fail," inftead of fo many 
" {hips •," we frequently ufe the " head" for the " per- 
" fan," the " pole" for the " earth," the " waves" for r 
the " fea." An attribute is often ufed for its fubjecl t, , 
as, "youth and beauty" for the "young and beautiful j" 
and fome times a fubjetl for its attribute. But the re* 
a by far the moil fruitful, of tropes, is fimilkudej,.. 
which is the fole foundation of metaphor. 



MSTAPHQR.:. ,» 

METAPHOR. 



Mi 



LETAPHOR is founded entirely on the 
refemblance which one object bears to another, It 
is therefore nearly allied to fimile or comparifon $ 
and is indeed a comparifon in an abridged form. 
When we fay of a great minifter, " he upholds the : 
11 ftate, like a pillar, which fupports the weight of 
"an edifice," we evidently make a comparifon; but, , 
when we fay of him, he is. " the. pillar of the "ftate," it 
becomes a metaphor. 

Of all the figures of fpeech none approaches fo near 
to painting, as metaphor.: It: gives light and ftrength i 
to description ; makes intellectual ideas in fome de* 
gree vifible, by giving them colour, fubftance and fenfi- 
ble qualities. To produce this effect, however, a del- 
icate hand is. requifite; for by a little inaccuracy we 
may introduce confufion inftead of promoting perfpi- 
cuity. Several rules therefore mull be given for the- 
proper management of metaphors. 

The fir ft rule refpetting metaphors is, they mud be . 
foiled to the nature of thefubjeft ; neither too numer- 
ous, nor too gay, n or< too elevated for it ; we mult 
neither attempt to force thefubjeti by the ufeof them 
into a degree of elevation, not congruous to it ; nor 
on the contrary fuffer it to fall below its proper digni- 
ty. Some metaphors are beautiful in poetry, which 
would be unnatural in profe ; fome are graceful in 
orations, which would be highly improper in historic- 
al or philosophical compofition. Figures are the drefs 
cf fentiment. They ihould confequentiy be adapted . 
te the ideas which they are intended to adorn* 



ft? metaphor; 

The fecond rule refpe£te the choice of objects* 
whence metaphors are to be drawn. The field for 
figurative language is very wide. - All nature opens - 
Ker (lores and allows us to collet! them without re- 
straint. But we muft beware of ufing fuch allufions * 
as raife in the mind difagreeable, mean, low, or dirty 
ideas. To render a metaphor perfeii, it mud not only 
be apt, but pleafmg ; it mud entertain as well as en-- 
lighten. Dryden therefore can hardly efcape the im- 
putation of a very unpardonable breach of delicacy, . 
when he cbferves to the Earl of Dorfet, that " fome : 
" bad poems carry their owners' marks about them ; 
€i fome brand or other on this buttock, or that ear ; 
u that it is notorious who are the owners of the cattle." 
The mod pieafmg metaphors are derived from the 
frequent occurrences of art and nature, or from the 
civil tranfadtions and cuftoms of mankind. Thus, how ' 
expreffive, yet at the fame time how familiar, is the v - 
image which Otway has put into the mouth of Metel- 
lus in hisplay of Caius Marius, where he calls Sulpicius > 

That mad xvild bull, whom Marius lets loofs 

On each occafion, when he'd make Ps.ome feel him, > 

To tofs out. laws and liberties in the air. 

In the third place a metaphor mould be founded on a 
a- refemblance, which is clear and ftriking, not far * 
fetched, nor difficult to be difcovered. Harfh or forc- 
ed metaphors are always difpleafing, becaufe they per- - 
plex the reader, and inftead of illuftrating the thought, , 
render it intricate and confufed.: Thus, for indance, , 
Cowley, fpeaking of his miftrefs, exprefles himfelf ia < 
tke following forced and obfcure verfes ; : 



METAPHOR. f$ 

We to her ftubborn heart ; if once mine come- 

Into the felf-fame room,, 
'Twill tear and blow up all within, 
Like a grenado, fhot into a magazine. 
Then lliali love keep the aflies and torn part*-- 
Of both our broken hearts ; 
Shall out of both one new one make ; 
Srom her's the alloy, from mine the metal take ^ 
Eor of her heart he from the flames will find- 
But little left behind ; 
Mine only will remain entire-; 
No drofs was there, to perifh in the flie* 

Metaphors^ borrowed from any of the fciences, e£ 
gecially from particular profeffions, are almofl al- 
ways faulty by their obfcurity. 

In the fourth place, we mud never jumble meta- 
phorical and plain language together $ never. conftru£fc 
a period fo, that part of it mud be understood meta- 
phorically, part literally ; which always produces con- 
fufion, The works of Oflian afford an indance of the 
fault we are now cenfuring. " Trothal went forth 
" with the ftream of his people, but they met a rock ; 
" for Fingal flood unmoved ; broken, they rolled back; 
u from his fide* Nor did they roll in fafety ; the 
u fpear of the king purfued their flight." The meta- 
phor at the beginning is beautiful \ the " dream," 
the" unmoved rock," the " waves rolling back brok- 
" en," are exprefiions in the proper and confident lan- 
guage of figure ; but in the end, when we are told. 
" they did not roll in fafety, becaufe the fpear of the 
** king purfued their flight," the literal meaning is in- 
judicioufly mixed with the metaphor ; they are at the 
fame moment prefented to us as waves that roll> and 
as, men: that may be purfued and wounded by a Jpeai\, 



$4 metaphor:. 

In the fifth place, take care not to make two differ- 
ent metaphors meet on the fame obje£t. This, which- 
is called mixed metaphor, is one of the grbfleft abufes 
of this figure. Shakefpeare's ^expreffion, for example, 
" to take arms againft a fea of troubles, ,, makes a mo ft 
unnatural medley, and entirely* confounds the imagin- 
ation. More correct writers than Shakefpeare, are 
fometimes guilty of this error. Mr. Addifon fays, 
u There is not a fingle view of human nature, which 
u is not fufficienfc to extinguish the feeds of pride. " 
Here a view is made to extingui(h y and to extingwjlj- 
feeds. 

In examining, the propriety of metaphors it is a 
good rule to form a picture of them, and to confider 
fcksw the parts agree, and what kind of figure the 
whole prefents, when delineated with a pencil. 

Metaphors, in the fixth place, ihould not be crowd- 
ed together on the fame object. Though each of them 
be diftincl, yet, if they be heaped on one another, 
they produce confufionV The following paflage from i 
Horace will exemplify this obfervation : 

Moturn ex- Metello confule civicum 
Bellique caufas, et vitia, ct modos, 

JLudumque fortunae, gravefque 

Principum amicitias, et arrna 
Nondum expiatis un&a cruoribuSj 
Periculofae plenum opus ale<e, 

Tra&a§, et inccdis per ignes 

Suppofitos cineri dolofo. 

Tliis paflage, though very poetical, is rendered harfh 
snd obfeure by three diftinft metaphors crowded to- 
gether. Fir (I, iQ anna un3a cruoribus nondum expiatis : il 
next, " opus plenum peneulofie alea ,-" and then, " ince* 
^ dis per tgncs fuppofiios cineri dohje" 



ALLEGORY. ^ 

The Iaft rule concerning metaphors is, they fhould 
jiot be too far purfued. For, when the refemblance, 
which is the foundation of the figure, is long dwelt 
upon, and carried into all its minute circumftances, 
an allegory is produced inftead of a metaphor -> the 
reader is wearied, and the difcourfe becomes obfcure. 
This is termed firaining a metaphor. Dr. Young, 
whofe imagination waamorediftinguifhed by ftrength, 
than delicacy, is often guilty of running down his met- 
aphors. Speaking of old age, he fays, it fhould 

Walk thoughtful on the Glenf, foleirm fhore 

Of that van 1 ocean, it muft fail fo foon ; 

And put good works on board ; and wait the wind 

That fhortly blows us into worlds unknown. 

The two firft lines are uncommonly beautiful ; but* 
when he continues the metaphor by " putting good 
u works on board? and waiting the wind," it is {train- 
ed, and finks in dignity. 

Having treated of metaphor, we (hall conclude this 
chapter with a few words concerning allegory. 

An allegory is a continued metaphor; as it is the 
reprefentation of one thing by another that refembles 
it. Thus Prior makes Emma defcribe her conftancy 
to Henry in the following allegorical manner : 

Did I but purpofe to embark with thee 
On the fmooth furface of a fummer's fea, 
While gentle zephyrs play with profperous gales, 
And fortune's favour fills the fwelling fails ; 
But would forfake the lHp,and make the fhore, 
When the winds whittle, and the tempefts roar-? 

The fame rules that were given for metaphors, may 
;fee applied to allegories on accomnt of the affinity h*~ 



n 



jg HYPERfcOCE. 

tween them. The only material difference befide fhe 
one being fhort and the other prolonged is, that a met- 
aphor always explains "it-felf by the words that are 
eonnefted with it in their proper and literal meaning; 
as, when we fay, " Achilles was a lion ';" ".an 'able 
cc minifter is the -pillar of the ftate/' Lion and pillar 
are here fufficiently interpreted by the mention of 
Achilles and the minifter, which are joined to them $ 
but an allegory may be allowed to ftand lefs connect- 
ed with the literal meaning ; the interpretation not 
being fo plainly pointed out, but left to our own re- 
Jle&ion. 



HYPERBOLE. 



» 



[YPERBOLE confifts in magnifying an oti- 
jecl: beyond its natural bounds. This figure occurs 
very frequently in all languages, even in common con- 
verfation. As fwift as the wind ; as white as fnow ; 
and our ufual forms of compliment are in general ex- 
travagant hyperboles. From habit, however, thefe ex- 
aggerated expre (lions are feldom considered, as hyper- 
bolical. 

Hyperboles are of two kinds ; fuch as are employ- 
ed in defcription, or fuch as. are fuggefted by paflion. 
Thofe are far belt which are the effe£l of paflion % 
fince it not only gives rife to the moft daring figures, 
but often renders them juft and natural. Hence the 
following paffage in Milton, though extremely hyper- 
bolical, contains nothing but what is natural and prop- 



HYPERBOLE. $f7 

cr. It exhibits the min df atan agitated by rage 
and defpair. 

Me mifcrable ! Which way fliall I fly 
Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair ? 
Which way I fly is hell : myfelf am hell : 
And in the loweft depth, a lower deep 
iStill threatning to devour me, opens wide, 
To which the hell I fuffer feems a heaven. 

In firnple description, hyperboles mtift be employed 
with more caution. When an earthquake or ftormis 
defcribed, or when our imagination is carried into the 
midft of a battle, we can bear flrong hyperboles with- 
out difpleafure. But, when only a woman in grief is 
prefented to our view, it is impofiible not to be dif- 
gufted with fuch exaggeration, as the following, in 
one of our drarnatick poets : 

— — I found her en the floor 

In all the fiorm of grief, yet beautiful, 

Pouring forth tears at fuch a Iavifh rate, 

That were the world on fire, they might have drown'd 

The wrath of heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin. 

This is mere bombaft. The perfon herfelf who la- 
boured under the diftra&ing agitations of grief, might 
be permitted to exprefs herfelf in ftrong hyperbole ; 
but the fpedator, who defcribes her, cannot be allow- 
ed equal liberty. The juft boundary of this figure 
cannot be afcertained by any precife rule. Good fenfc 
and an accurate tafte muft afcertain the limit, beyond 
which, if it pafs, it becomes extravagant 



9t PERSONIFICATION, 



PERSONIFICATION AMD APOSTROPHE. 

W E proceed now to thofe figures which li£ 
altogether in the thought, the words being taken iu 
their common and literal fenfe. We {hall begin with 
perfonification, by which life and a£tion are attributed 
to inanimate obje£ts. All poetry, even in its mod 
humble form, abounds in this figure. From profe it 
is far from being excluded ; nay, even in common 
converfation, frequent approaches a^e made to it. 
When we fay, the earth ihirjls for rain, or the fields 
fmile with plenty ; when ambition is faid to be rejllefs % 
or a difeafe to be deceitful \ fuch expreflions (how the 
facility with which the mind can accommodate the 
properties of living creatures to things inanimate, of 
abilraft conceptions. 

There are three different degrees of this figure % 
which it is requifite to diftinguiih, in order to deter- 
mine the propriety pf its ufe. The firft is, when 
fome of the properties of living creatures are afcribed 
to inanimate objects ; the fecond, when thofe inani- 
mate objects are defer ibed as a£ting like fuch as 
have life \ and the third, when they are exhibited ei- 
ther as fpeaking to us, or as liftening to what we fay 
to them. 

The firft and lowed degree of this figure, which 
confifts in afcribing to inanimate objects fome of the 
qualities of living creatures, raifes the flyle fo little, 
that the humblefl difcourfe admits it without any 
force. Thus " a raging ftcrm, a deceitful difeafe, a 
f* cruel difafter," are familiar exprelfions. This in- 



PERSONIFICATION. 



9i 



deed is fo obfcure a degree of perfonification, that it 
might perhaps be properly . clafTed with fimple meta- 
phors which almoft efcape our obfervation. 

The fecond degree of this figure is, when we rep- 
resent inanimate objects acting like thofe that have 
life, Here we rife a ftep higher, and the perfonifica- 
tion becomes fenfible. According to the nature of the 
adtion which we afcribe to thole inanimate objects, 
and to the particularity with which we defcribe it, 
is the ftrength of the figure. When purfued to a con- 
fiderable length, it belongs only to ftudied harangues y 
when flightly touched, it may be admitted into lefs 
elevated compofitions. Gicero, for example, fpeaking 
of the cafes where killing a mar is lawful in felf-de- 
fence, ufes the following expreflions : " AHquando no*- 
u bis gladius ad occidendum hormnem ab Ipfus porrigitur 
" fegibuj." Here the laws are beautifully perfonified 
as reaching forth their hand to give us a fword for 
putting a man to death. 

In poetry, perfonifications of this kind are extreme- 
ly frequent, and are indeed the life and foul of it. In 
the ciefcriptions of a poet, who has a lively fancy 
every thing is animated. Homer, the father of poet- 
ry, is c^arkable for the ufe of this figure. War, 
3, darts, rivers, every thing in fhort, is alive in his 
writings, The fame is true of Milton and Shakefpeare. 
No perfonification is more ftriking, or introduced on 
a more proper oecafion, than the following of Miltoir 
upon Eve's eating the forbidden fruit : 

So faying, her rafh hand 'in evil hour 
Forth reaching to the fruit, ihe pluckM, (he ate ! 
Eirtfr felt the wound ; and nature from her feat, 
Sighing thro' all her works, gave figns of wo., 
T&at all was loft. 



ICO PERSONIFICATION. 

The third and higheft degree of this figure is yet to 
be mentioned ; when inanimate objects are reprefent- 
ed, not only as feeling and adiing, but as fpeaking 
to us or liftening, while we addrefs them. This is 
the boldeft of all rhetorical figures •, it is the Ftyle of 
ftrong paflion only - 9 and therefore fhould never be 
attempted, except when the mind is confiderably heat- 
ed and agitated. Milton affords a very beautiful ex- 
ample of this figure in that moving and tender addrefs 
-which Eve makes toParadife immediately before ihe 
is compelled to leave it. 

O unexpected ftroke, worfe than of death ! 
Mufl I thus leave thee, Paradife ? Thus leave 
Thee, native foil ; thefe happy walks and fhadety 
Fit haunt of gods ; where I had hope to fpend 
Quiet, though fad, the refpite of that day, 
Which muft be mortal to us both ? O flowers ! 
That never will in other climate grow, 
My early vifitation, and my laft 
At even, which I bred up with tender hand 
From your firit opening buds, and gave you names : 
Who now fliall rear you to the fun, or rank 
Your tribes, and water from the ambro&al fount ? 

This is the real language of nature and of female 
paflion. 

In the management of this fort of perfonification two 
rules are to be obferved. Firft, never attempt it, un- 
lefs prompted by ftrong paflion, and never continue it 
when the paflion begins to fubfide. The fecond rule 
is never perfonify an object which has not fome dig- 
nity in itfelf, and which is incapable of making a prop- 
er figure in the elevation to which we raife it. To 
addrefs the body of a deceafed friend is natural $ but 
to addrefs the clothes which he wore introduces low 



APOSTROPHE. 101 

and degrading ideas. So likewife, addreffing the fev- 
. eral parts of the body, as if they were animated, is not 
agreeable to the dignity of paflion. For this reafon 
the following paffage in Pope's Eloifa to Abelard is 
liable to cenfure. 

Dear fatal name ! reft ever unreveaPd,; 
Nor pafs thefe lips, in holy filence feal'd. 
Hide it, my heart, within that clofe difguife a 
Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies ;. 
O, write it not, my hand !— his name appears 
Already written — blot it, out, my tears. 

Here the name of Abelard is firfl: perfonified i 
which, as the name of a perfon often (lands for the 
perfon himfelf, is expofed to no obje&ion. Next, Eloifa 
perfonifies her own heart ; and, as the heart is a dig- 
nified part of die human frame, and rs often put for 
the mind, this alfo may/ pafs without cenfure. But, 
when fhe addrefies her hand, and tells it not to write 
his name, this is forced and unnatural. Yet the fig* 
ttre becomes ftill worfe, when Ihe exhorts her tears to- 
blot out what her hand had written. The two lad 
lines are indeed altogether unfuitable to the tendernefs 
which breathes through^ the reft of that inimitable 
poem; 

Apostrophe is an addrefs to a real perfon ;. but 
one who is- either abfent or dead, as if he were pre- 
fent, and liftening to us» This figure is in boldnefs 
a degree lower than personification ; fince it requires 
lefs effort of imagination to fuppofe perfons prefent 
who are dead or abfent, than to animate inienGble 
beings ■> and direcl: our difcourfe to them. The poems 
c£ Offian abound in beautiful inftanges of this figure 



102 COMPARISON. 

" Weep on the rocks of roaring winds, O Maid of 
" Iniftore. Bend thy fair head over the waves, thou 
" fairer than the ghoft of the hills, when it moves in a 
u fun- beam at noon over the filence of Morven. He is 
V fallen ! Thy youth is low ; pale beneath the fword 
-* of Cuchulliu." 



COMPARISON, ANTITHESIS, INTERROGA- 
TION, EXCLAMATION, AND OTHER FIG- 
URES OF SPEECH. 

A COMPARISON or Gmile is, when the re- 
semblance between two obje£ls is expreffed in form, 
and ufually purfued more fully than the nature of a 
metaphor admits. As when we fay, " The aflions of 
* c princes are like thofe great rivers, the courfc of 
*' which every one beholds, but their fprings have been 
" feen by few." This fhort inftance will mow that a 
happy comparifon is a fort of fparkling ornament, 
which adds luftre and beauty to difcourfe. 

All comparifons may be reduced under two heads 
explaining and emhellijhing comparifons. For, when a 
writer compares an object with any other thing, it al- 
ways is, or ought to be, with a view to make us un- 
derftand that obje£l more clearly, or to render it more 
ple^fing. Even abftraft reafoning admits explaining 
comparifons. For inftance, the diftindtion between 
the powers of fenfe and imagination is in Mr. Harris's 
Hermes illuftrated by a Smile : " As wax," fays he, 
" would not be adequate to the purpofe of fignature, 
"..if it had not the power to retain 3s well as to- *«• 



COMPARISON. 



[Qg 



■ ceive the impreffion : the fame holds of the fouL 
<c with refpe£t to fenfe and imagination. Senfe is its 
c< receptive power, and imagination its retentive. Had 
<c it fenfe without imagination, it would not be as wax, 
u but as water ; where, though all imprefiions be in- 
<{ ftantly made, yet as foon as they are made, they are 
u loft." In comparifons of this kind, peripicuity and 
ufefulnefs are chiefly to be ftudied. 

But embellilhing comparifons are thofe which 
mod frequently occur. Refemblance, it has been 
obferved, is the foundation of this figure. Yet re- 
femblance muft not be taken in too firi£t a fenfe for 
adtual fimilitude. Two objects may raife a train of 
concordant ideas in the mind, though they refemblc 
each other, ftri&ly fpeaking, in nothing. For exam- 
ple, to defcribethe nature of foft and melancholy mu- 
fick, Offianfays, M The mufick of Carryl was, like the 
M memory of joys that are paft, pleafant and mourn- 
u ful to the foul." This is happy and delicate ; yet 
no kind of mufick bears any refemblance to the mem- 
ory of paft joys. 

We fhall now confider when comparifons may be in- 
troduced with propriety. Since they are the language 
of imagination, rather than of paflion, an author can 
hardly commit a greater fault, than in the midft of 
paflfion to introduce a fimile. Our writers of trage- 
dies often err in this refpeft. Thus Addifon in his 
Cato makes Portius, juft after Lucia had bid him fare- 
well forever, exprefs himfelf in a ftudied comparifon. 

Thus o'er the dying lamp the unfteady flame 
Hangs quivering on a point, leaps off by fits, 
And falls again, ^s loth to quit its hold. 
Thou muft not go ; my foul ftill hovers o'er thee, 
^.nd can't get loofe. 



1©4 COMPARISON, 

As companion is not the ftyle of ftrong paflion, To- 
when defigned for embeliiihment, it is not the lan- 
guage of a mind totally unmoved; Being a figure of 
dignity, it always requires fome elevation in thefub- 
,je£t, to make it proper. It fuppofes the imagination 
to be enlivened* though the heart is not agitated by 
paftion. The language of fimile lies in the middle 
region between the highly pathetick and the very hum- 
ble ftyle. It is however a fparkling ornament ; and 
muft confequently dazzle and fatigue, if it recur too 
often. Similes, even in poetry, (hould be employed 
with moderation ; but in profe much more fo ; oth- 
erwife the ftyle will become difguftingly lufcious, and- 
the ornament lofe its beauty and effect. 

We {hall now confider the nature of thofe objects 
jVom which comparifons fhould be drawn. 

In the firft place, they muft not be drawn fromthings* 
which have too near and obvious a refemblance of 
the obje£t with which they are compared. The pleas- 
ure we receive from the act of comparing, arifes- 
from the difcovery of liknefles among things of dif- 
ferent fpecies, where we (hould not at firft fight ex- 
peel: a refemblance. 

But, in the fecond place, as comparifons ought not 
to be founded on liknefles too obvious, much lefs 
ought they to be founded *n thofe which are too faint 
and diftant. Thefe, infteadof aflifting, ftrain the fan- 
cy to comprehend them, and throw no light upon the 
fubject. 

In the third place, the object from which a compare 
ifon is drawn, ought never to be an unknown object, 
nor one of which few people can have a clear idea. 
Therefore finule$, founded on philofophical difcov^ 



ANTITHESIS. I $5 

eries, oron anything, with which pcrfons of a partic- 
ular trade only, or a particular profeffion, are acquaint- 
ed, produce not their proper effect. They fhould be 
drawn from thofe illuftrious and noted objects, which 
mod readers have either feen, or can flrongly conceive. 

In the fourth place, in cornpofitions of a ferious or 
elevated kind, fimiles (hould never be drawn from low 
or mean objects. Thefe degrade and vilify ; whereas 
fimiles are generally intended to embellifh and dignify. 
Therefore, except in burlefque writings, or where an 
obje£t is meant to be degraded, mean ideas (hould 
never be prefented. 

ANTITHESIS is founded on the contraft or oppo- 
fition of two objects. By contraft, objects oppofed 
to each other, appear in a ftronger light. Beauty, for 
inftance never appears fo charming as when contrafl- 
ed with uglinefs. Antithefis therefore may, on many 
occafions, be ufed advantageoufly to ftrengthen the 
rmpreffion which we propofe that any obje£t {hould 
make. Thus Cicero, in his oration for Milo, reprefent- 
ing the improbability of Milo's defigning to take away 
the life of Clodias, when every thing was unfavourable 
to fuch defign, after he had omitted many opportuni- 
ties of effecting fuch a purpofe, heightens our convic- 
tion of this improbability by a fkilful ufe of this fig- 
ure, "j^uem igitur cum omnium gratia interjicere nclu- 
" if ; hunc voluii cum alia nor urn querela ? ^uem jure, 
u quern loco, quern tempore, quern impune, mn eft aufus ; 
6< hunc injuria , iniquo loco, aliens tempore, periculo capitis ', 
" ncn dubitavit occidere ?" Here the antithefis is render- 
ed complete by the words and members of the fen- 
tence, expreffing the contrafted objects, being fimilar- 
ly eonftriuSted ; and made toccrrefpond with eachother* 



106 INTERROGATIONS. 

We mud however acknowledge that frequent ufer 
of antithefis, efpecialiy where the oppofition in the 
words is nice and quaint, is apt to make ftyle implead- 
ing. A maxim or moral faying very properly receives 
this form ; becaufe it is fuppofed to be the effect of 
meditation, and is defigned to be engraven on the 
memory, which recalls it more eafily by the aid of 
contracted expreffions. But where feveral fuch fen* 
tences fucceed each other ; where this is an author's 
favourite and prevailing mode of exprefuon ; his ftyle 
is expofed to cenfure. 

INTERROGATIONS and Exclamations «e paf- 
fionate figures* The literal ufe of interrogation is to 
afk a queftion ; but, when men are prompted by paf- 
fion, whatever they would affirm, or deny with great 
earneftnefs, they naturally put in the form of a quef- 
tion ; expreffing thereby the firmeft confidence of the 
truth of their own opinion y and appealing to their 
hearers for the impoffibility of the contrary. Thus 
in fcripture ; " God is not a man, that he lhould lie , . 
u nor the Son of Man, that he mould repent. Hath 
" he faid it ? And fhall he not do it ? Hath he fpoken 
u it ? And fhall he not make it good p 

Interrogations may be employed in the profecution 
of clofe and earned reafoning •, but exclamations be- 
long only to ftronger emotions of the mind ; to fur- 
prize, anger, joy, grief, and the like. Thefe, being 
natural figns of a moved and agitated mind, always, 
when properly employed; make us fympathize with, 
thofe who ufe them, and enter into their feelings. 
Nothing, however, has a worfe efFefifc, than frequent 
?md unfeafonable ufe of exclamations. Young, inex- 
perienced writers fuppofe, that by pouring them forth 



VISION AND CLIMAX. 10J 

plenteoufly they render their compofitions warm and 
animated. But the contrary follows ; they render 
them frigid to excefs. When an author is always 
^calling upon us to enter into tranfports, which he has 
faid nothing to infpire, he excites our difguft and in- 
dignation. 

Another figure of fpeech, fit only for animated 
composition, is called Vision ; when, inftead of relat- 
ing fomething that is paft, we ufe the prefent tenfe, 
and defcribe it as if paffing before our eyes. Thus 
Xicero in his fourth oration againft Cataline : " Vide* 
€ *• or enim mihi banc urbem videre 9 lucem or bis terrarum 
5 * at que arcem omnium gentium • i fubito uno incendia conci- 
u dentum ; cer?io animo Jepulta in p atria mtferos at que in* 
5 1 fepultos acervos civium ; verfatur mihi ante oculos afpec* 
Ai tus Cetkegi) et furor , in vejlra cade bacchant ir." This 
figure has great force when it is well executed, and 
when it .flows from genuine enthufiafm. Otherwife, 
it fhares the fame fate with all feeble attempts toward 
paffionate figures ,$ that of throwing ridicule upon the 
author, and leaving the reader more cool and uninter- 
ested than he was before. 

The la ft figure which we fhall mention, and which is 
of frequent ufe among all publick fpeakers, is Climax. 
It confifts in an artful exaggeration of all the circum- 
itances of fome object or a£Hon which we wifh to 
place in a flrong light. It operates by a gradual rife 
of one circumftance above another, till our idea is 
raifed to the higheft pitch. We fhall give an inftanqc 
of this figure from a printed pleading of a celebrated 
lawyer in a charge to the jury in the cafe of a wo- 
man, who was accufed of murdering her own child. 
f< Gentlemen, if one man had any how flain another s 



Io8 GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE. 

w if an adverfary had killed his cppofer ; or a womaa 
u occafioned the death of her enemy ; even thefe crim- 
€( inals would have been capitally punifhed by the 
" Cornelian law. But, if this guiltlefs infant, who 
€i could make no enemy, had been murdered by its 
u own nurfe, what punifhments would not the mother 
cc have demanded ? With what cries and exclamations 
" would (he have (tunned your ears ? What (hall we 
€i fay then, when a woman, guilty of homicide ; a 
€( mother, of the murder of her innocent child, hath 
<c comprifed all thofe mifdeeds in one fingle crime ; 
" a crime, in its own nature deteftable ; in a woman 
a prodigious 5 in a mother incredible 5 and perpetrated 
c< againft one whofe age called for compaffion ; whofe 
<c near relation claimed affe£lion ; and whofe inno- 
Cl cence deferved the highefl: favour ?" Such regular 
climaxes, however, though they have great beauty, 
yet at the fame time have the appearance of art and 
ftudy ; and, therefore, though they may be admitted 
into formal harangues, yet they are not the language 
of paffion which feldom proceeds by fteps fo regular. 



GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE. DIF- 
FUSE, CONCISE— FEEBLE, NERVOUS- 
DRY, PLAIN, NEAT, ELEGANT, FLOWERY. 

1 HAT different fubjecis ought to be treated 
in different kinds of ftyle, is a pofition fo obvious, that 
it requires no illuftration. Every one knows that 
treatifes of philofophy fhould not be compofed in the 
fame ftyle with orations. It is equally apparent, that 



DIFFUSE AND CONCISE. 1 09 

different parts of the fame compofition require a varia- 
tion in the ftyle. Yet amid this variety, we flill ex- 
pert to find in the compofitions of any one man fome 
degree of uniformity in manner •, we expe£l to find 
fome prevailing character of ftyle imprefled on all his 
writings, which will mark his particular genius and 
turn of mind. The orations in Livy differ confidera- 
bly in ftyle, as they ought to do, from the reft of his 
hiftory. The fame may be obferved in thofe of Taci- 
tus. Yet in the orations of both thefe hiftorians, the 
diftinguifhed manner of each may be clearly traced ; 
the fplendid fullnefs of the one, and the fententious 
brevity of the other. Wherever this is real genius, 
it prompts to one kind of ftyle, rather than to another. 
Where this is wanting \ where there is no marked 
nor peculiar character in the compofitions of an au- 
thor ; we are apt to conclude, and not without caufe, 
that he is a vulgar and trivial author, who writes from 
imitation, and not from the impulfe of genius. 

One of the firft and mod obvious diftinctions in 
ftyle arifes from an author's expanding his thoughts 
more or lefs. This diftin&ion forms what are termed 
the diffufe or concife ftyles. A concife writer com- 
prefies his ideas into the feweft words ; he employs 
none but the mod expreflive % he lops off all thofe 
which are not a material addition to the fenfe. What- 
ever ornament he admits, is adopted for the fake of 
force, rather than of grace. The fame thought is 
never repeated. The utmoft precifion is ftudied in 
his fentences ; and they are generally defigned to Tug- 
ged more to the reader's imagination than they ex- 
prefs. 

K 



110 DIFFUSE AND CONCISE. 

A difrufe writer unfolds his idea fully. He places 
it in a variety of lights, and gives the reader every pof- 
fible affiftanee for underftanding it completely, He is 
not very anxious to exprefs it at fir ft in its full ftrength 
becaufe he intends repeating the impreflion ; and, 
what he wants in ftrength, he endeavours, to fupply 
by copioufnefs. His periods naturally flow into fome 
length, and, having room for ornament .of every kind* 
he rives it free admittance. 

Each of thefe ftyles has its peculiar advantages. „; 
and each becomes faulty, when carried to the extreme, 
Of concifenefs, carried as far as propriety will allow, 
perhaps in fome cafes farther, Tacitus the hiftorian and 
Montefquieu in " l'Efprit de Loix" are remarkable ex- 
amples. Of a beautiful and. magnificent diffufenefs, 
Cicero is undoubtedly the nobleft inftance whi :h can 
be given. Addifcn alfoaniSir William Temple may 
be ranked in the fame clafs 

In determining when to adopt the concife, and when 
-the difFufe manner, we muft be guided by the nature of 
the .competition. Difcourfes that are to be fpoken, re- 
quire a more difrtiie flyle than books which are to be 
read. In written compofi lions a proper degree of con- 
cifenefs has great advantages. It is more lively ; keeps 
up attention ; makes a ftrangsr impreiTion on the 
mind j and gratifies the reader by fuppiying more ex- 
ercife to his thoughts. Defcription, when we wiih 
to have it vivid and animated, ihoiild beconcife. Any 
redundant words or circumft.ances encumber the fancy 
and render the object we prefent to it, confufed and 
indiilincl. The ftrength and vivacity of defcription, 
whether in profe or poetry, depend much more jupon 
a happy choice of one or two important circumftances, 



NERVOUS' AND FEEBLE, III 

?£?an upon the multiplication of them. When we do- 
fire to ftrike the fancy, or to move the heart, we fliould 
be cbncife *, when to inform the underilanding, which 
is more deliberate in its motions, and wants the afiirl- 
ance cf a guide;' it is better to be full. Hiiiorical nar-* 
ration t&ay be beautiful either in a conciie or diffufe 
manner, according To the author's genius. Livy and 
Herodotus are diffufe v ; Thueydides and Sallufl are 
canciie ; yet they are all agreeable. 

The nervous and the feeble are generally catffider- 
zd as characters of ftyle of the fame 'import with the 
conciie and the eiihile. Indeed they frequently coin- 
cide ; yet this does not always hold*, finoe there are in- 
ftances of writers, who, in the midil of a full and amp] t 
fryle^have maint. lined a confiderahie degree cf ftvength* 
Livy is an iuftanceof the truth of this obferv an on, 
'ihe foundation of w nervous or weak llyle is hud in 
an author's manner of thinking. If he conceive an 
object ftrongly, he will exprefs it with energy \ but, 
if he have an indiltinei view of his fubjett, it will 
clear* y appear in his llyle. Unmeaning words and 
looie 'epithets will "efeape him ; his expreflions will be 
vague and general ; his arrangements indiftin£t ; and 
cur conception of his meaning will be faint and con- 
fufed. But a nervous writer, be his ftyle concife or 
extended, gives us always a iirong idea of his meaning. 
His mind being full of his fubje£t, his words are al- 
ways expreffive ; every phrafe and every figure renders 
thepiclure which he would fet before us, more link- 
ing and complete. 

It muft, however, be obferved, that too great ftudy 
of flrength is apt to betray writers into a harfh manner. 
Harlhnefs proceeds from uncommon words, from forc- 
ed inversions in the conflruclicn of a fentence, and 



I I 2 NERVOUS, FEEBLE, DRY AND PLAIN 

from neglect of fmoothnefs and cafe. This is reckon-' 
eel the fault of fomc of our earlieft clafficks ; fuch as 
Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Bacon, Hooker, Her- 
riugtoixj Cudworth, and other writers of confiderable 
reputation in the days of Queen Elizabeth, James I. 
^nd Charles I. Thefe writers had nerves and ftrengtb 
in a high degree ; and are to this day difiinguifhed by 
this quality in ftyle. But the language in their hands 
was very different from what it is now, and was in- 
entirely formed upon the idiom and confiruclion 
of the Latin in the arrangement of fentences. The 
prefent form of our language has in fome degree fac- 
rifked the ftudy of ftrcngth to that of eafe and per- 
fpicuity. Our arrangement is lefs forcible, but more 
plain and natural •, and this is now confidered as the 
genius of our tongue. 

Hitherto ftyle has been confidered under thofe char- 
acters which regard its exprefiivenefs of an author's 
meaning. We fhall now confider it with refpecT: to 
the degree of ornament employed to embellifh it. 
Here the ftyle of different authors feems to rife in the 
following gradation ; a dry, a plain, a neat, an ele- 
gant, a flowery manner. 

A dry manner excludes every kind of .ornament. 
Content with being underftood, it aims not to pleafe 
either the fancy or the ear. This is tolerable only in 
pure dida£tick writing ; and even there, to make us 
bear it, great folidity of matter and entire perfpicuity 
of language are required. 

A plain ftyle rifes one degree above a dry one. A 
writer of this character employs very little ornament 
of any kind, and refts almoft entirely upon his 
fenfe. But> though he does not engage us by the arts 



HEAT AND ELEGANT. II3 

df compofition, he avoids difgufting us like a dry and 
a harfh writer. Befide perfpicuity, he obferves pro- 
priety, purity, and precifion in his language, which 
form no inconfiderable degree of beauty. Livelinefs 
and force are alfo compatible with a plain flyle ; and 
therefore fuch an author, if his fentiments be good, 
may be fufficiently agreeable. The difference between 
a dry and a plain writer is this ; the former is incapa- 
ble of ornament •, the latter goes not in purfuit of it, 
Gf rhofe who have employed the plain flyle, Dean 
Swift is an eminent example. 

A neat ftyle is next in order ; and here we are ad- 
vanced into the region of ornament •, but not of the 
moft fparkling kind. A writer of this charadler fliows 
by his attention to the choice of words, and to their 
graceful collocation, that he does not defpife the beau- 
ty of language. His fentences are always free from 
the incumbrance of Superfluous words ; of a moderate 
length ; inclining rather to brevity, than a fwelling 
ftruclure ; and clofing with propriety. There is varie- 
ty in his cadence •, but no appearance of itudied har- 
mony. His figures, if he ufe any, are fliort and ac- 
curate, rather than bold and glowing. Such a flyle 
may be attained by a writer, whofe powers of fancy or 
genius are not great, by induftry and attention. This 
fort of flyle is not unfuitable to any fubjedl whatever. 
A familiar epiille, or a law paper on the drieft fubje£t, 
may be written with neatnefs - 9 and a fermon, or a 
philofophical treatife in a neat ftyle, is read with fatif- 
fadion. * 

An elegant flyle implies a higher degree of orna* 
ment than a neat one ; poffeffing all the virtues of or* 
nament without any of its excefles or defe&s. Com- 
plete elegance implies great perfpicuity and propriety y 
K 3 



I 14 STYLE-*- -SlMPLClTY. 

purity in the choice of words ; and care and {kill In 
their arrangement. It implies farther the beauties of 
imagination fpread over ftyle as far as the fubjeft per- 
mits 5 and all the illuftration which figurative language 
adds, when properly employed. An elegant writer in 
fhort, is one who delights the fancy and the ear, while 
he informs the underftanding ; who clothes his ideas 
in all the beauty of exprefixm, but does not oevrload 
them with any of its mifplaced finery. 

A florid ftyle implies excefs of ornament In a 
young compofer it is not only pardonable, but often a? 
promifing fymptom. But, although it may be allowed 
to youth in their fir ft efiays, it mult not receive the 
fame indulgence from writers of more experience. Irf 
them judgment fhould chafien imagination^ and reject 
every ornament which is unfuitable or redundant. 
That tinfel fplendour of language which fome writers' 
perpetually affect, is truly contemptible. With fuch/ 
it is a luxuriance of words, not of fancy. They for- 
get that unlefs founded on good fenfe and folid thought, 
the nioft florid ftyle is but a childifh impofition on the 
publick. 



STYLE. SIMPLE, AFFECTED, VEHEMENT. 
DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING A PROPER 
STYLE. 

SIMPLICITY, applied to writing, is a term 
very commonly ufed \ but, like many other critical 
terms, often ufed without precifion. The different 
meanings of the word fimplicity are the chief caufe 
pf this inaccuracy. It is therefore necefTary to, fhcvr, 



simplicity; nj 

in what fenfe fimplicity is a proper attribute of ftyle,- 
There are four different acceptations, in which this 
term is taken. 

The firit is fimplicity of ccmpofition, as oppofed to- 
too great a variety of parts. This is the fimplicity of 
plan in tragedy, as diitinguifhed from double plots- 
and crowded incidents ; the fimplicity of the Iliad in 
oppcfition to the digreilions of Lucan •, the fimplici- 
ty of Grecian architecture in oppofition to the irregu- 
lar variety of the Gothick* Simplicity in this fenfe is 
the fame with unity. 

The fecond fenfe is fimpli'ciry of thought in oppo- 
fition to refinement. Simple thoughts are thofe which 
flow naturally ; which are fuggefted by the fuhjecl or 
occafion ; and which, when once fuggefted, are eafily 
underftood by all. Refinement in writing means a 
lefs obvious and natural train of thought, which, when 
carried too fa*, approaches to intricacy, and difpleafes- 
us by the appearance of being far fought. Thus Par- 
nell is a poet of much greater Gmplieity in his turn of 
thought than Cowley. In thefs two fenfcs fimplicity 
has no relation to ftyfe 

The third fenfe of fimplicity regards ftyle* and is 
oppofed to too much ornament, or pomp of language. 
Thus we fay Mr. Locke is a fimple, Mr. Herveya 
florid writer. A fimpie ftyle, in this fenfe, coincides 
with a plain or neat ftyle. 

The fourth fenfe of fimplicity alfo refpects ftyle 5 
but it regards not fo much the degree of ornament em- 
ployed, as the eafy and natural manner, in which our 
.language exprefifes our thoughts. In this fenfe fim- 
plicity is compatible with the higheft ornament. 
Horner, for example, pofleflss this fimplicity in the 



Il6 SIMPLICITY— AFFECTATION. 

greateft perfe&ion; and yet' no writer has more orna- 
ment and keauty. This fimplicity is oppofed not to 
ornament, but to affectation of ornament*, and is a 
fuperior excellence in composition. 

A fimple writer has no marks of art in his expref- 
fion ; it appears the very language of nature. We fee 
not the writer and his labour, but the man in his own 
natural character. He may be rich in expreffion ; he 
may be full of figures and of fancy; but thefe flow 
from him without effort ; and he feems to write in this 
manner, not becaufe he had ftudied it, but becaufe it 
is the mode of expreffion moft natural to him. With 
this chara&er of ftyle a certain degree of negligence 
is not inconfiftent ; for too accurate an attention to 
words is foreign to it. Simplicity of ftytej like fim- 
plicity of manners, fhows a man's fentiments and turn 
of mind without difguife. A more ftudied and arti- 
ficial mode of writing, however beautiful, has always 
this difadvantage, that it exhibits an author in form, 
like a man at court, where fplendour of drefs and the 
ceremonial of behaviour conceal thofe peculiarities 
which diftinguifh one man from another. But read- 
ing an author of fimplicity is like converting with a 
perfon of rank at home and with eafe, where we fee 
his natural manners and his real character* 

With regard to fimplicity in general, we may ob- 
ferve, that the ancient anginal writers are always mod 
eminent for it. This proceeds from' a very obvious 
caufe; they wrote from the dictates of genius, and 
were not formed upon the labours and writings of 
others. 

Of affectation, which is oppofed to fimplicity of ftyle, 
we have a remarkable example in Lord Shaftefbury* 



AFFECTATION. I tf 

Though an author of confiderable merit, he exprefles 
nothing with fimplicity. He feems to have thought 
it vulgar and beneath the dignity of a man of quality 
to fpeak like other men. Hence he is ever in buf- 
kins ; full of circumlocutions and artificial elegance. 
In every fentence we fee marks of labour and art \ 
nothing of that eafe which exprefles a fentiment com- 
ing natural and warm from the heart. He abounds 
with figures and ornament of every kind ; is fome- 
times happy in them ; but his fondnefs for them is too 
vifible •, and, having once fcized fome metaphor or al- 
lufion, that pleafed him, he knows not how to part 
with it. He pofiefled delicacy and refinement of tafte 
in a degree that may be called exceffive and fickly j 
but he had little warmth of paffion \ and the coldnefs of 
his chara£ler fuggefted that artificial and (lately man- 
ner which appears in his writings. No author is more 
dangerous to the tribe of imitators than Shaftesbury % 
who amid feveral very confiderable bierrrifhes, has 
many dazzling and impofing beauties. 

It is very poffible, however, for an author to write 
with fimplicity, and yet without beauty. He maybe 
free from affectation, and not have merit. Beautiful 
fimplicity fuppofes an author to pofiefs real genius ; 
and to write with folidity, purity, and brilliancy of im- 
agination. In this eafe, the fimplicity of his manner 
is the crowning ornament •, it heightens every other 
beauty ;. it is the drefs of nature, without which all 
beauties are imperfe£t. But, if mere abferice of affec- 
tation were fufRcient to conftitute beauty of ftyle* 
weak and dull writers might often lay claim to it. 
A diitin£tion therefore muft be made between that 



IIS DIRECTIONS FOR FORMIMG A PROPER STYLE, 

firnplicity which accompanies true genius and is en- 
tirely compatible with every proper ornament of flyle ; 
and that which is the effect of careleffneis. 

Another character of ftyle, different from thofe al- 
ready mentioned is vehemence. This always implies 
ftrength; and is not in any refpect incompatible with 
fimplicicy. It is diftinguiihed by a peculiar ardour ; it 
is the language of a man whofe imagination and paf- 
fioris are glowing and impetuous ; who, neglecting in- 
ferior graces, pours himfelf forth with the rapidity and' 
fulnefs of a torrent, ' This belongs to the higher 
kinds of oratory \ and is rather expected from a rm. 
who is "(peaking, -'than from one who is writing in h\i 
clofet. Demofthenes is the moil full and perfect ex* 
ample of this kind of ftyle. 

Having explained the difrefeiit characters of ft; 
we ihall conclude our obfef with a few dire 

tions for attaining a good ftyle in general 

The firft direction is, fludy clear ideas of the fub- 
je£l on which yoii are to write or fpeak. What we ; 
conceive clearly and feel ftrongly, we naturally exprefs 
with clearnefs ; and ftrength. We fhould therefore 
think clofely on the fubjeft, till we: have attained a 
full and diltincl view of the matter which we are to 
clothe in words ; till we become* warm and inferefted 
in it •, then, and then only, ihall we find expreffioa " 
begin to flow. 

Secondly, to the acquisition of a good ftyle, frequen- 
cy of compofing is indifpenfably neceffary. But it is 
not every kind of competing that will improve ftyle. r 
By a carelefs and hafty habit of writing, a bad ftyle will 
be acquired ; more trouble will afterward be necefTa-- 
ry to unlearn faults, than to become acquainted with- ■ 



DIRECTIONS SOU FORMING A PROPER STYLE. I 19 

.the rudiments of compofitlon. In the beginning there- 
fore we ought to write flowiy and with much care. Fa- 
cility and fpeed are the fruit of practice. We mull be 
cautious, however, not to retard the courfe of. thought, 
ror cool the ardour of imagination, by paufing too long 
on every word. On certain oqcafions a glow of com- 
pofition mud be kept up, if we hope to exprefs our- 
felves happily, though at the expenfe cf fome inac- 
curacies. A mors fevers examination mud be the 
work of correction. What we ha T e written fhould 
be laid by fome time, till the ardour of competition be 
pad; till partiality for cur expreffions be weakened, 
and the exprefficms themfelves be forgotten ; and then, 
reviewing our work with a cool and critical eye as if 
it were- the performance of another, we (ka.ll difcover 
jiiany imperfe£lions which at fird efcaped us. 

Thirdly, acquaintance with the ftyje of the bed au- 
thors is peculiarly requifite. Hence a juft tade will 
be formed,, and a copious fund of words (applied on 
.every fubjecX No exercife perhaps will be found more 
aifeful for acquiring a proper ft: vie, than tranflating 
fome paflage from an eminent author into cur own 
words. Thus to take, for indauce, a page of one of 
Addifon's Spectators, and read it attentively two or 
.three times, till we are in full pcfTeffion of the thoughts 
it contains ; then to lay afide the book ; to endeavour 
,to write out the paffage from memory as well as we 
can ; ancl then to compare what we have written 
with the dyie of the author. Such an exercife will 
.(hew us our defects ; will teach us to correct, them ; 
and, from the variety of expreffion which it will ex- 
hibit, will conduct us to that which is mod beau- 
tiful. 



120 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING A PROPER STYLE. 

Fourthly, caution rnuft be ufed againft ferviie imU 
tation of any author whatever. Defire of imitating 
hampers genius, and generally produces ftiffhefs of 
expreffion. They who follow an author clofely, com- 
monly copy his faults as well as his beauties. No one 
will ever become a good writer or fpeaker, who has 
not fome confidence in his own genius. We ought 
carefully to avoid ufing any author's peculiar phrafes, 
and of transcribing paflages from him. Such a habit 
will be fatal to all genuine compofition. It is much 
better to have Something of our own, though of mod- 
erate beauty, than to mine in borrowed ornaments, 
which will at laft betray the poverty of our genius. 

Fifthly, always adapt your ftyle to the fubje£t, and 
likewife to the capacity of your hearers, if you are to 
fpeak in publick. To attempt a poetical ftyle, when it 
fhould be our bufmefs only to reafon, is in the highefl 
degree awkward and abfurd. To fpeak with elaborate 
pomp of words before thofe who cannot comprehend 
them, is equally ridiculous. When we are to write 
or fpeak, we ihould previously fix in our minds a clear 
idea of the end aimed at ; keep this fteadily in view, 
and adapt our ftyle to it. 

Laflly, let not attention to ftyle engrofs us fo much 
as to prevent a higher degree of attention to the 
thoughts. This rule is more neceffary, (ince the pref- 
ent tafte of the age is directed more to ftyle than to 
thought. It is much more eafy to drefs up trifling 
and common thoughts with fome beauty of expreflion, 
than to afford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and ufe- 
ful fentiments. The latter requires genius ; the for- 
mer may be attained by induftry. Hence the crowd 
of writers who are rich in ftyle, but poor in fentiment. 



CRITICAL EXAMINATION, &C, 121 

■Cuflom obliges tis to be attentive to the ornaments of 
ilyle, if we wiih our labours to be read and admired. 
But he is a contemptible writer, whojooks not beyond 
the drefs of language ; who lays not the chief ftrefs 
upon his matter, and employs not fuch ornaments of 
ftyle to recommend it, as are manly, not foppifh. 



CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF Me. ADDISON's 
STYLE IN No. 411 OF THE SPECTATOR. 

XxAVING fully infilled on the fubjeft of lan- 
guage, we flrall now commence a critical analyfis of 
the llyle of fome good author. This will fuggeil ob- 
fervations, which we have not hitherto had occafion 
to make, and will (how in a practical light the life of 
thofe which have been made* 

Mr. Addifon, though one of the moil beautiful wri- 
ters in our language, is not the mod correal ; a cir- 
cumflance which makes his composition a proper fub- 
je£l of criticifm. We proceed therefore to examine 
No. 41 1, the firft of his celebrated e flays on the pleaf- 
tires of the imagination, in the fixth volume of the 
Spe£lator. It begins thus : 

Our fight is the moft perfect > and moft delightful of all 
mir fenfes. 

This fentence is clear, precife and fimple. The au- 
thor in a few plain words lays down the propofition, 
which he is going to illuftrate. A firft fentence ihould 
feldom be long, and never intricate. 

He might have faid, cur fight is the mofl perfect and 
the moft delightful But in omitting to repeat the pair- 
L 



tZ% CRITICAL EXAMINATION 

dele the, he has been more judicious ; for, as between 
perfect and delightful there is no contraft, fuch a repe- 
tition is unnecefiary. He proceeds : 

It fills the mind with the large/} variety of ideas ' 9 con** 
verfes with its objects at the greatefl defiance* and contin- 
ues the hngejl in atlion, without being tired or fatiated 
with its proper enjoyments \ 

This fentence is remarkably harmonious, and well 
conftrucled. It is entirely perfpicuous. It is loaded 
with no unnecefiary words* That quality of a good 
fentence, which we termed its unity, is here perfectly 
preferved. The members of it alfo grow, and rife 
above each other in found, till it is conducted to one 
of the moll harmonious clofes which our language 
admits. It is moreover figurative without being too 
much fo for the fubjeft. There is no fault in it what- 
ever, except this, the epithet large, which he applies to 
variety, is more commonly applied to extent than to 
number. It is plain, however, that he employed it to 
avoid the repetition of the word greats which occurs 
immediately afterward. 

The fenfe of feeling can, indeed, give us a notion of ex- 
ienfion, /hape 3 and all other ideas that enter at the eye, ex- 
cept colours ; hut, at the fame time, it is very much fiiraiU 
ened and confined in its operations, to the number, bulk, 
and di flame of its particular objects* But is not every 
fenfe confined as hiuch as the fenfe of feeling, to the 
number, bulk, and diftance of its own obje£ts ? The 
imn of expreffion is alio very inaccurate, requiring 
the two words, with regard, to be inferted after the 
word operations, in order to make the fenfe clear and 
intelligible. The epithet particular feems to be ufed 
Initead of peculiar s but thefe words, though often 



OF MR. AI)DTSON 7 S STYLE. 1 23 

Confounded, are of very different import. Particular 
is oppofed to general ; peculiar (lands oppofed to what 
is poffeffed in common with others* 

Our fight feeins defined to /apply all theft defetls^ and 
may bee ' as a mo-re delicate and diffuftve kind of 

touch thai fpredds if elf over an infinite multitude of bodies, 
comprehends the large]} figures, and brings into our reach 
fome of the mof remote parts of the imiverfe* 

This fentence is perfpicuous, graceful, well arrang- 
ed and highly mufical. Its conftruclion is fo fimiiar 
to that of the fecond fentence, that, had it immediate- 
ly fucceeded it, the ear would have been fenfible of a 
faulty monotony. But the interposition of a period 
prevents this effeft. 

It is thisfenfe which furnfhes the imagination with its 
ideas ;fo that, by the pleafures cf the imagination or fancy 
(which I ji hall ufe promifcuoufly ) I here mean fuch as 
arife from vifble ohjetls^ either when we have them actu- 
ally in cur view] or when we call up their ideas into our 
minds by paintings ', fratuesy defer iptions y or any the like 
Gccafon, 

The parenthefis in the middle of this fentence is 
not clear. It fhould have been, terms which 1 fhall ufe 
promifcuoufly \ fmce the verb ufe does not relate to the 
pleafures of the imagination, but to the terms, fancy 
and imagination, which were meant to be fynonimous* 
To call a painting or a ilatue an occofion is not accu- 
rate 7 nor is it very proper to fpeak of calling up ideas 
by cccajions. The common phrafe any fuch meanfy would 
have been more natural. 

We cannot indeed have afingle image in the fancy, thai 
did. not make iisfirf entrance through the fight ; but we 
have ih-e power of retaining^ altering^ and compounding ihoft 



S24 CRITICAL EXAMINATION 

images which we have once received, into all the varieties 
&f piclure and vi/ion, that are mojl agreeable to- the imagina- 
tion ; for, by this faculty, a man in a dungeon is capable 
cf entertaining h'wifelf with fcenes and landfcapts more 
beautiful than any that can be found in the whole compafs 
sf nature* 

In one member of this fentence there is an inaccu- 
racy in fyntax. It is proper to fay, altering and com- 
pounding thofe images which we have mice received, into 
all the varieties of piclure and vifton, But we cannot 
with propriety fay, retaining them into all the vari<* 
eties ; yet the arrangement requires this conftrudiion. 
This error might have been avoided by arranging the 
paiTage in the following manner : '" We have the pow- 
CJ er of retaining thofe images which we have once 
" received ; and of altering and compounding them 
a into all the varieties of picture and vi/ion." The 
latter part of the fentence is clear and elegant. 

There are few words in the En glfj language* which 
are employed in a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe than 
thofe of the fancy and the imagination* 

Except when fome affertion of confequence is ad- 
vanced, thefe little words, it is and there are, ought to 
be avoided, as redundant and enfeebling. The two 
fir ft words of this fentence therefore fhould have been 
omitted. The article prefixed to fancy and imagination 
ought alfo to have been omitted, fince he does not 
mean the powers of the fancy and the imaghuiUon, but 
the words only. The fentence fhould have run thus : 
C( Few words in the Englifh language are employed in 
!* a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe than fancy 
" and imagination/ 1 



of mr. adpison's style. 125 

I therefore thought it neceffary to fx and determine the 
notion of thefe two words , as I intend to make life of them 
in the thread of my following /peculations ', that the reader 
may conceive rightly what is the f abject which 1 proceed 
upon. 

The words fix and determine, though they may ap- 
pear fb, are not fynonymous. Wejff* what is loofe ; 
we determine what is uncircumfcribed. They may be 
viewed, therefore, as applied here with peculiar del- 
icacy. 

e notion of thefe words is rather harih, and is not 
fo commonly ufed, as the meaning of thefe words. As 
I intend to make ufe of them in the thread of my f peculations 
is evidently faulty. A fort of metaphor, improperly 
mixed with words in their literal fenfe. The fubjeft 
which I proceed upon is an ungraceful clofe of a izi\* 
ihould have been, the fubj 'eel upon which I 

I mttft therefore deftre him to rem-niber, that by the- 
pleafures of imagination , 1 mean only fuch pleafures as arifi 
ginallyfromfght, and that Ld,v:de thefe p/eafures into 
3 kinds. 

This fentence begins in a manner too fimilar to the 
preceding. I mean only fuch pleafures — rhe adverb only 
is not in its proper place. It is not intended hereto 
qualify the verb mean, but fuch pleafures ; and ought 
therefore to be placed immediately after the latter. 

My dtfign being, firft of all, to difcoufe fthofe prima r? 
pleafures of the imagination, which entirely proceed from 
fuch objects as are before cur eyes ; and, in the next place , 
peak of thefe fecoudary pleafures of the imagination , whichr 
few from the id* as of vifhle cbjecJs, when the objects are 
mt actually before the eye, but are called u£ into our mzxi^ 



12<S CRITICAL EXAMINATION 

mies t or formed into agreeable vifions of things, thatare^ 
either abfent or fictitious, 

Neatnefs and brevity are peculiarly requifite in the 
divifion of a fubjeft. This fentence is fomewhat 
clogged by a tedious phrafeology. My defign beings 

firjl of all to difcourfe—in the next place to fpeak of~* 

Jfuch objetls as are before our eyes— things that are either 
abfent or fictitious. Several words might have been 
omitted, and the ftyle made more neat and compact. 
The pleasures of the imagination , taken in their full ex- 
tent) are not fo grefs as thofe offenfe, nor fa -refined as thoji 
of the under/landing. 

This fentence is clear and elegant. 

The Jajl are indeed more preferable, becaufe they are 

founded onfome new hwwledge or improvement of the mind- 
of man ; yet it mufi be confeffed, that thofe of the imagi- 
nation dre as great and as iranfporting as the other. 

The phrafe, more preferable, is fo palpable an inaccu- 
racy, that we wonder how it could efcape the obfer- 
yatioii of Mr. Addifon, The propofition, contained- 
in the laft raeihber of this fentence, is neither clearly 
nor elegantly exprefifed. It mufl be confeffed, that thofe 
of the imagination are as great and as i r an f porting as the 
other. In the beginning of this (cntcncQ he had called 
the pleafures of the under-Handing the lajl ;. and he; 
concludes with obferving, that thofe of the imagina- 
tion are as great and tranfporting as the othefi. Be- 
fide that the other makes not a proper contraft with 

• the lofty it is lefs doubtful whether by the other are 
meant the pleafures of the underftanding, or the 
pleafures of fenfe ; though without doubt it was in- 
tended to refer to the pleafures. of the underftanding 
Dfcly. 



€>V MR. ABD1S0N 3 STYLE. 12-7 

A beautiful p.'f peel delights the foul as much as a demon* 
flration ; and a defer iption in Homer has charmed more- 
readers than a chapter in Ariflotle*. 

This is a good illuftration of what he had been af~ 
ferting, and is exprefled with that elegance, by which 
Mr. Addifon is diftfnguifhed 7 . 

Befides, the pleafures of the imagination have this ad* 
vantage over thofe of the under/landings thai they are more 
obvious, and more eafy to be acquired* 
This fentence is unexceptionable. 
It is but opening the eye, and the fee tie enters. 
Though this is lively and pidhirefque, yet we muft 
remark a fmall inaccuracy, A fcene cannot be faid to- 
mter ; znaclor enters, but a fcene appears or prejents 
it/elf. 

The colours pait it- themfelves on the fancy , with very lit ~- 
ile attention of thought or application of mind in the beholder*. 
This is beautiful and elegant, and well fuited to 
thofe pleafures of the imagination of which the au- 
thor is treating* 

We are jlruck, we know not how-, with the fymmetry of 
any thing we fee ; and immediately ajfent to the beauty of 
an object, without inquiring into the particular caufes and 
. oxCafons of it. 

We ajfent to the truth of a proportion -, but cannot 
with propriety be faid to ajfent to the beauty, of an object. 
In the conclusion, particular and occafions are f super- 
fluous words ; and the pronoun it is in feme meafure 
ambiguous. 

A- man of a polite imagination islet into a great many- 
pleafures that the vulgar are riot capable of receiving* 

The term polite is oftener applied to manors, thaa 
to the imagination. Thz uie oi.that inftead of which 



I2S CRITICAL EXAMINATION. 

is too common with Mr. Addifon. Except in cafes 
where it is necefiary to avoid repetition which is pre* 
ferable to that, and is undoubtedly fo in the prefent 
inftance. 

He can converfe with a piclure, and find an agreeable 
companion hi ajtatue. He meets with a fee ret refrefometit 
in a defcripiion ; and often feels a greater fatisfacJion in 
the profpeB of fields and meadows, than another does in the 
poj/l/fion. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property in eve- 
ry thing he fees ; and makes the mofl rude uncultivated 
parts of nature adminifler to his pleafure : fo that he looks 
upon the world, as it were, in another light, and difcov- 
ers in it a multitude of charms that conceal themf elves 
frotn the generality of mankind. 

This fentence is eafy, flowing, and harmonious. 
We muft, however, obferve a flight inaccuracy. It ' 
gives him a kind of property — to this it there is no an- 
tecedent in the whole paragraph. To difcover its. 
connexion, we muft look back to the third fentence 
preceding, which begins with a man of a polite imagina- 
tion* This phrafe, polite imagination, is the only ante- 
cedent to which it can refer y and even this is not a 
proper antecedent, fince it (lands in the genitive cafe 
as the qualification only of a man. 

'There are, indeed, but very few who know how to be 
idle and innocent, or have a reli/Jj of any pleafures that are 
not criminal ; every diver/Ion they take y is at the expenfe 
Qf feme one virtue or another, and: their very firjljlep out 
of bvftnefs is into vice or folly* 

This fentence is truly elegant, muncal and correal. 

A man fh.ould endeavour,, therefore, to make the fp here 
if his innocent pleafures as 'wide as poffible, that he may 
retire into the?n with fafety, and find in them fuch a fat'u^ 
faBicn, as a wife man would not blufo to take*. 



OF MR. ADDISON*S STYLE. 1 2p 

This alfo is a good fentence and expofed to no 
objection. 

Of this nature are thofe of the imagination, which do not 
require fuch a bent oj thought as is necejjary to our morefe- 
ricus employments ; nor, at the fame time, fuffer the mind 
to fink into that indolence and remijfnefs, which are apt to 
accompany our more fenfual delights ; but like a gentle ex* 
ercife to the faculties, awaken them from fcth and idlenefs> 
without putting them upon any labour or difficulty. 

The beginning of this fentence is incorrect. Of this 
nature, fays he, are thofe of the imagination. It might 
be afked, of what nature ? For the preceding fentence 
had not defcribed the nature of any clafs of pleafures. 
He had fold that it was every man's duty to make the 
fphere of his innocent pleafures as extenfive, as poffi- 
ble, that within this fphere he might find a fafe~ 
retreat and laudable fatisfa&ion. The transition there- 
fore is loofely made. It would have been better, if he 
had faid, " This advantage we gain," or " this fatis- 
facftion we enjoy," by means of „the pleafures of the 
imagination. The reft of the fentence is correal. 

We might here add, that the pleafures of the fancy are 
more conducive to health than thofe of the underflanding, 
which are worked out by dint of thinking, and attended 
with too violent a labour of the brain* 

Worked out by dint of thinking is a phrafe which bor- 
ders too nearly on the ftyle of common converfation^ 
to be admitted into polifhed compofition. 

Delightful fcenes, whether in nature, painting, or poetry % 
have a kindly influence on the body, as well as the mind 9 
and mi only ferve to clear and brighten the imagination f 
but are able to difp erf e grief and melancholy , and to fet the 
animal fpirits in pie of in g and agreeable motions* For this 



*3° ELOqpfiNCI. 

reafon, Sir Francis Bacon, in his effay upon health, has 
not thought it improper to prefcribe U his reader a poem or 
■ fiprofpetl) where be particularly dijfuades him from knotty 
andfuhtile difquifitions, and advifes him to purfue Jludies 
that fdl the mind with fplendid and illufrious ohfeSts, as 
hijlorieS) fables y and contemplations $f nature. 

In the latter of thefe two periods a member is out 
of its place. Where he particularly diffuades him from 
knotty andfuhtile difquiftions ought to precede has not 
thought it improper to prefcribe , £sV. 

/ have in this paper, by way of introduElion, fettled the 
notion of thofe pleafures of the imagination, which are the 
fubjecl of my prefent undertaking, and endeavoured by fev- 
er al conft derations to recommend to my readers the purfuit 
of 'thofe pleafures ; I f jail in my next paper examine the 
jeveral four ces from 'whence thefe pleafures are derived* 

Thefe two concluding fentences furniuh examples 
of proper collocation of circurnftances. We former* 
ly fhowedthat it is difficult fo to difpofe them as not 
to embarrafs the principal fubje£L Had the follow- 
ing incidental circurnftances, by way of 'introduction 

by fever al confederations— in this paper— in the next pa* 
per, been placed in any other fituation, the fentence 
would have been neither fo neat^ nor fo clear, as it is 
on the prefent conftru£lion. 



ELOQUENCE. ORIGIN OF ELOQUENCE. 
GRECIAN ELOQUENCE- DEMOSTHENES. 

X^LOQUENCE is the art of perfuafion. Its mod 
effential requiiites are folid argument, clear method* 



ELOQUENCE. 13* 

and an appearance of fincerity in the fpeaker, with 
fuch graces of ftyle and utterance, as command at- 
tention. Good fenfe muft be its foundation. With 
out this, no man can be truly eloquent \ fince fools 
can perfuade none but fools. Before we can perfuade 
a man of fenfe, we muft convince him. Convincing 
and perfuading, though fometimes confounded, arc 
of very different import. Convi&ion affefts the un- 
derftanding only $ perfuafion the will and the practice- 
It is the bufinefs of a philofopher to convince us of 
truth •, it is that of an orator to perfuade us to a£t 
conformably to it by engaging our affections in its fa- 
vour. Convidtion is, however, one avenue to the 
heart and it is that which an orator muft firft at- 
tempt to gain •, for no perfuafion can be ftable, which 
is' not founded on conviction. But the orator muft 
not be fatisfied with convincing ; he muft addrefs 
himfelf to the paffions ; he muft paint to the fancy, 
and touch the heart. Hence, befide folid argument 
and clear method, all the conciliating and interefting 
arts of compofition and pronunciation enter into the 
idea of eloquence. " 

Eloquence may be confidered, asconfifting of three 
kinds or degrees. The firft and loweft is that which 
aims only to pleafe the hearers. Such in general is 
the eloquence of panegyricks, inaugural orations, ad- 
drefles to great men, and other harangues of this kind. 
This ornamental fort of compofition may innocently 
amufe and entertain the mind : and may be mixed at 
the fame time with yery ufeful fentiments. But it 
muft be acknowledged, that, where the fpeaker aims 
only to fhine and to pleafe, there is great danger of 
art being drained into oftentation, and of the compa- 
ction becoming tirefome and infipid. 



532 ELOQUENCE. 

The fecond degree of eloquence is, when the fpeak- 
er aims, not merely to pleafe, but alfo to inform, to 
inftru£i, to convince '> when his art is employed in 
removing prejudices againft himfelf and his caufe 5 in 
fele&ing the mofl proper arguments, ftating them 
with the greateft force, arranging them in the bed 
order, expreffing and delivering them with propriety 
and beauty : thereby difpofing us to pafs that judg- 
ment, or favour that fide of the caufe, to which he 
feeks to bring us. Within this degree chiefly is em- 
ployed the eloquence of the bar. 

The third and higheft degree of eloquence is that 
by which we are not only convinced, but interefted, 
agitated, and carried along with the fpeaker ; our paf- 
fions rife with his ; we (hare all his emotions •, we love, 
we hate, we refent, as he infpires us ; and are prompt- 
ed to refolve, or to a£t, with vigour and warmth. 
Debate in popular affemblies opens the mofl extenfive 
field to this fpecies of eloquence - 9 and the pulpit alfo 
admits it. 

This high fpecies of eloquence is always the off. 
fpring of paffion. By paffion we mean that ftate of 
mind in which it is agitated and fired by fome ohjedt 
in view. Hence the univerfally acknowledged power 
of enthufiafm in publick fpeakers for affecting their 
audience. Hence all ftudied exclamation and laboured 
ornaments of ftyle, which fhow the mind to be cool 
and unmoved, are inconfifient with perfuafive elo- 
quence. Hence every kind of affe&ation in gefture 
and pronunciation detra&s fo much from the weight 
of a fpeaker. Hence the neeeffity of being, and of be- 
ing believed to be, difinterefted and in earneft in or- 
der to perfuade. 



ORIGIN OF ELOQUENCE. 133 

In tracing the origin of eloquence it is not necefTiry 
'to go far back into the early ages of the world, or to 
fearch for it among the monuments of Eaitern or 
Egyptian antiquity. In thofe ages, it is true, there 
was a certain kind of eloquence ; but it was more 
nearly allied to poetry, than to what we properly call 
oratory. While the intercourfe of men was infre- 
quent, and force was the principal mean employed 
in deciding controverfies, the arts of oratory and 
perfua(ion, of reafoning and debate, could be little 
known. The firft empires were of the defpotiek kind. 
A fingle perfon, or at rnoft, a few, held the reins of 
government. The multitude were accuiiomed to blind 
obedience ; they were driven, not perfuaded. Con- 
fequently none of thofe refinements of fbciety, which 
make publick fpeaking an object of importance, were 
introduced. 

Before the rife of the Grecian Republicks, we per- 
ceive no remarkable appearances of eloquence, as the 
•art of perfuafion % aii ;ft gave it fach a fieldi as it 
never had before, at er had again 

fince that time. Greece was divide : i :: > many little 
ftates. Thefe were 73 , who 

being for their f yrannv fuc led from their 

dominions, there .:_; ;;■■> 

ical ne plan, 

anim " ally 

jeafbj - .ens 

was i every kind, but especially 

for eloquence. -er the orators, who 

lis republics, ana take 
a vie snes, in whom eIo<juenc£ 

;ido\n, Nov formed by na- 



134 DEMOSTHENES. 

ture either to pleafe or perfuade, he fcruggled with, 
and furmounted, the moft formidable impediments. 
He fhut himfelf up in a cave that he might ftudy with 
lefs diftraclion. He declaimed by the fea fhore, 
that he might be ufed to the noife of a tumultuous 
aflembly ; and with pebbles in his mouth, that he 
might corredt a defect in his fpeech. He pra&ifed at 
home with a naked fword hanging over his (boulder, 
that he might check an ungraceful motion, to which 
he was fubjecrh Hence the example of this gre2t man 
affords the higheft encouragement to every ftudent of 
eloquence ; fince it (hows how far art and application 
availed for acquiring an excellence, which nature ap- 
peared willing to deny. 

No orator had ever a finer field than Demofthenes. 
in his Olynthiacks and Fhilippicksj which are his capital 
orations ; and undoubtedly to the grealnefs of the fub- 
jecl, and to that integrity and publick fpirit, which 
breathe in them, they owe much of their merit. The 
object is to rouze the indignation of his countrymen 
againft Philip of Macedon, the publick enemy of the lib- 
erties of Greece ; and to guard them againft the iniid- 
ious meafures, by which that crafty prince endeavour- 
ed to lay them a deep to danger. To attain this end> we 
fee him ufing every proper mean to animate a people,, 
diftinguifhed by jufiicfc, humanity, and valour*, but in 
many initances become corrupt and degenerate. He 
boldly accufes them of venality, indolence, and indif- 
ference to the publkJk caufe \ while at the feme time 
he reminds tlu re of the gloi y of their anceflors, and of 
their prefer rccs". His cotemporary orator?, 

who were bribed by uaded t) 

to peace, he openh reproaches :6.rs to their conn- 



DEMOSTHENES. 1 35 

try. He not only prompts to vigorous meafures, but 
lays down the plan of execution. His orations are 
ilrongly animated, and full of the impetuofity and fire 
of publick fpirit. His compofition is not diltinguifhed 
by ornament and fplendour. Ic is energy of thought, 
peculiarly his own, which forms his character, and 
lets him above all others. He feems not to attend to 
words, hut to things. We forget the orator, and think 
of the fubject. He has no parade ; no (tudied intro- 
ductions , but is like a man full of his fubjecl, who, 
after preparing his audience by a lenience or two for 
hearing plain truths, enters directly on bufinefs. 

The ftyle of Demofthenes is ftrong and ccncife, 
though fometimes har(h and abrupt. His words are 
very expreflive, and his arrangement firm and manly, 
igent of little graces, he aims at that fublime 
which lies in fentiment. His action and pronunciation 
were uncommonly vehement and ardent. His character 
is of the auftere, rather than of the gentle kind. . He 
is always grave, fericus, paffionate ; never degrading 
himfeif, nor attempting any thing like pleafantry. If 
his admirable eloquence be in any refpeel; faulty, it is 
in this, he fometimes borders on the hard and dry. 
He may be thought to want fmoothnefs and grace ; 
which is attributed to his imitating too clofely the 
manner of Tbucydides, who was his great model for 
ftyle, and whofc hiftoryHe tranfcnbeu eight tim.-s with 
his own hand. But thefe defects are more than com- 
penfated by that mafterly force of mafculine eloquence, 
winch, as it overpowered all who heard it, cannct- 
in the prefent day be read wdthout emotion. 



*3$ ROMAN ELOQUENCE. 

ROMAN ELOQUENCE. CICERO, MODERN 
ELOQUENCE. 

JLlAVING treated of eloquence among the 
Greeks, we now proceed to confider its progrefs among 
the Romans \ where we mall find one model at leaft 
of eloquence in its molt fplendid form. The Romans 
derived their eloquence, poetry, and learning, from the 
Greeks, and were far inferior to them in genius for 
all thefe accomplifhments. They had neither their 
vivacity, nor fenfibility ; their paffions were not fa 
eafily moved, nor their conceptions (o lively * in com- 
parifon with them they were a phlegmatick people. 
Th^ir language refembled their character ; it was reg- 
ular, firm and {lately ; but wanted that expreffive fim- 
plicity, that flexibility to fuit every different fpecies of 
compofition, by which the Greek tongue is peculiarly 
diftinguifhed. Hence we always find in Greek pro- 
ductions more native genius ; in Roman, more reg- 
ularity and art. 

As the Roman government, during the republick, 
was of the popular kind, publick fpeaking early became 
the mean of acquiring power and diftinclion. But in 
the unpoKfhed times of the ftate, their fpeaking hardly 
deferved the name of eloquence. It was but a fhort 
time before the age of Cicero, that the Roman orators 
rofe into any reputation. CrafTus and Antonius feem 
to have been the moil eminent •, but, as none of their 
works are extant, nor any of Hortenfuis's, who was 
Cicero's rival at the bar, it is not neceffary to trans- 
cribe what Cicero faid of them and of the charafter 
of their eloquence. 



ClCERO. I37 

The object moft worthy of our attention is Cicero 
himfeif ; whofe name alone fuggefts every thing fplen- 
did in oratory. With his life and character in other 
refpects we are not at prefent concerned. We mall 
view him only as an eloquent fpeaker ; and endeavour 
to mark both his virtues and defeats. His virtues are 
eminently great. In all his orations art is confpicuous. 
He begins commonly with a regular exordium, and 
with much addrefs prepoffeffes the hearers and itudies 
to gain their affections. His method is clear, and his 
arguments arranged with great propriety. In clearnefs 
of method he has advantage over Demofthenes. Every 
thing is in its proper place : he never attempts to move 
before he has endeavoured to convince *, and in mov- 
ing, particularly the fofter paffions, he is very fuccefs- 
ful. No one ever knew the force of words better 
than Cicero. He rolls them along with the greateft 
beauty and pomp 5 and in the ilruclure of his fentences 
is eminently curious and exact. He is always full 
and flowing ; never abrupt. He amplifies every thing ; 
yet, though his manner is on the whole diffufe, it is 
often happily varied, and fuited to the fubjecL When* 
a great publick object roufed his mind, and demanded 
indignation and force, he departs corrfiderably from 
that loofe and declamatory manner, to which he at 
other times is addicted, and becomes very forcible 
and vehement. 

This great orator, however, is not without defeats* 
In molt of his orations there is too much art. He 
feems often defirous of obtaining admiration, rather 
than of operating conviction. He is fornetimes there- 
fore (howy, rather than folid ; and diffufe, where he 
ought to be urgent. His periods are always round 

M % 



*3 8 CICERO. 

and fonorous ; they cannot be accufed of monotony, 
for they poffefs variety of cadence •, but, from too 
great fondnefs for magnificence, he is fometimes defi- 
cient in (trength. Though the fervices which he 
performed for his country, were very confiderable, 
yet he is too much his own panegyriil. Ancient 
manners, which impofed fewer reltraints on the fide 
of decorum, may in fome degree excufe, but cannot 
entirely juflify his vanity. 

"Whether Demofthehes or Cicero were the moft 
perfeci orator is a queftion, on which criticks are not 
agreed. Fenelon, the celebrated Archbilhop of Cam- 
bray, and author of Teiemachus, feems to have dated 
their merits with great juitice and perfpicuity. His 
judgment is given in his reflections on rhetorick and 
poetry. We (hall tranfiate the pafiage, though not, 
it is feared, without iofing much of the fpirit of the 
original. " I do not he fit ate to declare," fays he, " that 
" I think Dtmofthenes fuperior to Cicero. I am per- 
fuaded, no one can admire Cicero more than I do. 
He adorns whatever he attempts. He does honour 
" to language. He difpofes of words in a manner pe- 
" cuiiar to himfeif. His ftyle has great variety cf 
€i character. Whenever he pleafes, he is even concife 
" and vehement ; for inftance, againit Catiline, againil 
M Vcrres, againit Anthony- But ornament is too vifi- 
" ble in his writings. His art is wonderful, but it is 
" perceived. When the orator iing for the 

" fafety of the republick, he for himfeif, nor 

" permits others to forge I ies feems 

" to efcape from himfeif, and to fee nothing but his 
<J country. He feeks not elegance of exprefiion i 
" unfought,he poffefies it. He is fuperiour to admire 






MODERN ELOQUENCE. 13^ 

€f tion. He makes ufe of language as a modefl: man 
cl does of drefs, only to cover him. He thunders, 
u he lightens. He is a torrent which carries every 
<c thing before it. We cannot criticife, becaufe we 
u are not ourfelves. His fubje£t enchains our atten- 
Cl tion, and makes us forget his language. We lofe 
u him from our fight ; Philip alone occupies our 
" minds. I am delighted with both thefe orators ; 
Cl but I confefs that I am lefs affe&ed by the infinite 
<c art and magnificent eloquence of Cicero, than by 
€i the rapid fimplicity of Demofthenes." 

The reign of eloquence among the Romans was 
very fhort. It expired with Cicero. Nor can we 
wonder at this ; for liberty was no more, and the 
government of Rome was delivered over to a fucceflion 
of the mod execrable tyrants that ever difgraced and 
fcourged the human race. 

In the decline of the Roman Empire the introduc- 
tion of Chriitianity gave rife to a new kind of eloquence 
in the apologies, fermons, and paftoral writings of the 
fathers. But none of them afforded very juft models 
of eloquence. Their language, as foon as we deicend 
to the third or fourth century, becomes harth ; and 
they are generally infected with the tafte of that age, 
a love of fwollen and itrained thoughts, and of the 
play of words. 

As nothing in the middle ages deferves attention, 
we pafs now to the ftate of eloquence in modern times. 
Here it mud be confeiTed^ that in no European nation 
publick fpeaking has been valued ib highly, or cultivated 
with fo much care, as in Greece or Rome. The ge- 
nius of the world appears in this refpeel to have un~ 
dergone fome alteration. The two countries^ where 



J 49 MOBERN FXO^tTENCE. 

we might expect to find mod of the fpirit of eloquence, 
are Fiance and Great Britain; France, on account of 
the diftinguiftied turn of its inhabitants toward all the 
liberal arts, and of the encouragement which more 
than a century pad thefe arts have received from the 
publick ; Great Britain, on account of its free govern- 
ment, and the liberal fpirit and genius of its people. 
Yet in neither of thefe countries has oratory rifen 
nearly to the degree of its ancient fplendour. 

Several reafons may be given, why modern eloquence 
has been fo confined and humble in its efforts. In 
the firfl: place, it feems, that this change mud in part 
be afcribed to that accurate turn of thinking, which 
has been fo much cultivated in modern times, t Our 
publick fpeakers are obliged to be more referved than 
the ancients, in their attempts to elevate the imagina- 
tion, and warm the pailions ; and by the influence of 
prevailing tafte, their own genius is chaftened perhaps 
in too great a degree. It is probable alfo, that we af- 
cribe to our corre&nefs and good ienfe, what is chief- 
ly owing to the phlegm and natural coldnefs of our 
difpofition. For the vivacity and fenfibility of the 
Greeks and Romans, efpecially of the former, feem 
to have been much fuperiour to ours, and to have giv- 
en them a higher reliili for all the beauties of oratary. 

Though the Parliament of Great Britain is the no- 
bleit field which Europe at prefent affords to a publick 
fpeaker, yet eloquence has ever been there a more fee- 
ble inftrument than in the popular affemblies of Greece 
and Rome. Under fome foreign reigns the iron hand 
of -arbitrary power checked its efforts; and in later 
times minifterial influence has generally rendered it of 
fmall importance. At the bar pur difadvantage ia 



ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES 14! 

comparifon with the ancients is great. Among them 
the judges were commonly numerous ; the laws were 
few and fimple ; the decifion of caufes was left in a 
great meafure to equity and the fenfe of mankind. 
Hence the field for judicial eloquence was ample. 
But at prefent the fyftem of law is much more com- 
plicated. The knowledge of it is rendered fo labori- 
ous, as to be the ftudy of a man's life. Speaking is 
therefore only a fecondary accompliihment, for which 
he has little leifure. 

With refpec* to the pulpit it has been a great dis- 
advantage, that the practice of reading ferraons in- 
ftead of repeating them has prevailed fo univerfaily ia 
England. This indeed may have introduced accura- 
cy ; but eloquence has been much enfeebled. Anoth- 
er circumftance too has been prejudicial. The fecla- 
ries and f ana ticks before the reftoration ufed a warm, 
zealous j and popular manner of preaching ; and their 
adherents afterward continued to diiiinguifh them- 
felves by fimilar ardour Hatred of thefe feels drove 
the eftablifhed church into the oppofite extreme of a 
ftudied coolnefs of expreffion. Hence from the art 
of perfuafion, which preaching ought ever to be, it 
has puffed, in England, into mere veafoning and ii> 
ftru&ion. 



ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES, 

X HE foundation of every fpecies of eloquence 
is good fenfe and folid thought. It mould be the firft 
ftudy of him, who means to addrefs a popular aflem* 



142 ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 

bly,to be previoufly m after of the bufinefs on which 
he is to fpeak ; to be well provided with matter and 
argument ; and to reft upon thefe the chief ftrefs. 
This will give to his difcourfe an air of manlinefs 
and ftrength, which is a powerful inftrument of per- 
fuafion. Ornament, if he have genius for it, will 
fucceed of courfe 5 at any rate, it defer ves only fee- 
ondary regard. 

To become a perfuafive fpeaker in a popular affem- 
bly, it is a capital rule, that a man (hould. always be 
perfuaded of whatever he recommends to others. 
Never, if it can be avoided, fhould 'he efpoufe that 
fide of an argument, which he does r.ot believe to be 
the right. All high eloquence rnuit. be the offspring 
of paffion. This makes every man perfuafive, and 
gives a force to his genius which it cannot otherwife 
poflefs. 

Debate in popular affemblies feldom allows a fpeak- 
er that previous preparation which the pulpit always, 
and the bar fometimes, admits. A general prejudice 
prevails, and not an unjuft one, againft fet fpeeches 
in publick meetings. At the opening of a debate they 
may fometimes be introduced with propriety ; but, as 
the debate advances, they become improper ; they 
lofe the appearance of being fuggefted by the bufinefs 
that is going on. Study and oftentatidn are apt to 
be vifible ; and, confequently, though admired as ele- 
gatit, they are feldom fo perfuafive as more free and 
unconft rained difcourfes. 

This, however, does not forbid premeditation, on 
what we intend to fpeak. With refpe£t to the matter 
we cannot be too accurate in our preparation ; but 
with regard to words and expreffions it is very poffibie 



ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 143 

fo far to overdo, as do render our fpeech fliff and pre- 
eife. Short notes of the fubftance of the difcourfe 
are not only allowable, but of confiderable fervice, to 
thofe efpecially, who are beginning to fpeak in publick. 
They will teach them a degree of accuracy, which, if 
they fpeak frequently, they are in danger of lofing. 
They will accuflom them to diftin£l arrangement, 
without which, eloquence, however great, cannot pro- 
duce entire conviction. 

Popular affemblies give fcope for the moil animat- 
ed manner of publick fpeaking. Pafficn is eafily excit- 
ed in a great affembly, where the movements are com- 
municated by mutual fympathy between the orator 
ana the audience. That ardour of fpeech, that vehe- 
mence and glow of fentiment, which proceed from a 
mind animated a,nd infpired by fame great and publick 
obje&j form the peculiar character of popular elo- 
quence in its higheft degree of perfection, 

Th h, however, which we exprefs, mud be 

always fuited to the fubject ; fiiice it would be ridicu- 
lous io introduce great vehemence into a fubjecl of 
fmall importance, or. which by its nature requires to 
be treated with c hnnefs. We muft ?A{q be careful 
no! to counterfeit warmth without feeling it The 
beft rule is, to follow nature , and never to attempt a 
drain of eloquence which is not prompted by our own 
genius. A fpeaktr may acquire eputation and influ- 
ence by a calm, argumentative manner. To reach the 
pathetiek and fublime of oratory requires thofe ftrong 
fenfibilities of mind, and that high power of expreffien, 
which are given to few. 

Even wli n vehemence is juftified by the fubjecl:, 
and prompted by genius ; when warmth is felt, not 



1 44 ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 

feigned ; we mud be cautious, left impetuofity tranf- 
port us too far. If the fpeaker lofe com m and of him- 
felf, he will foon lofe command of his audience. He 
muft begin with moderation, and ft-udy to Wsfcfti his 
hearers gradually and equally with himfelf. F or $ if 
their pa (Eons be not in unifon with his, 
will foon be felt. Refpeft for his audiei 
ways lay a decent reftraint upon his wan- 
vent it from carrying him beyond proper li'tr 
When a fpeaker is fo far mafter of hi 3 

preferve clofe attention to argument* and t feme 

degree of accurate expreffion - 5 this felt c . , this 

effort of reafon in the rnidit of paffion, contributes 
in the higheft degree both to pleafe and co perfuade* 
The advantages of paffion are afforded for t 
pofes of perfuaficn without that confufion and difor- 
der which are its ufual attendants, 

In the molt animated (train of popular fpeaking we 
muft always regard what the publick ear will receive 
without difguft. Without attention to (his, imitation 
of ancient orators might betray a fpeaker into a hoid- 
nefs of manner, with which the coolnefs of modern 
tafte would be difpleafed. It is alfo neceflar^ to at- 
tend with care to the decorums of time, place and 
character. No ardour of eloquence can atone for neg- 
lect of thefe. No one fhouid attempt to fpeak in 
publick without forming to himlelf a juftand flrict 
idea of what is fuitable to his age and character ; what 
is fuitable to the fubjecl - ., the hearers, the place, and 
the occafion. On this idea he mould adjuft the whole 
train and manner of his fpeaking. 

What degree of concifenefs or diffufenefs is failed 
to popular eloquence, it is not eafy to determine with 



ELOQUENCE .OF THE.- BAR. I 4 J 

|>recifion. A cliffy fe manner is generally confidered 
.as mod proper. There is danger, however, of erring 
in this refpe£l j by too diffufe a ftyle publick fpeakers 
often lofe more in point of ftrength, than they gain 
by fulnefs of illustration. Exceffive coneifenefs in- 
deed mud be avoided. We mull explain and incul- 
cate ; but confine ourfelves within certain limits. 
We fhould never forget that, however we may be 
pleafed with hearing ourfelves fpeak, every audience 
may be tired •, and the moment they grow weary, our 
eloquence becomes ufelefs. It is better in general, 
to fay too little, than too much ; to place our thought 
in one ftrong point of view, and red it there, than by 
fliowing it in every light, and pouring forth a profu- 
fion of words upon it, to exhauft jthe attention of our 
fearers, and leave them languid and fatigued. 



Ti 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 



HE ends of fpeaking at the bar and in pop* 
ular affemblies are commonly different. In the latter 
the orator aims principally to perfuade ; to determine 
his hearers to fome choice or conduct, as good, fit, 
or ufeful. He, therefore, applies himfelf to every 
principle of action in our nature 5 to the paffions and 
to the heart, as well as to the underftanding. But at 
the bar conviction is the principal object. There the 
fpeaker's duty is not to perfuade the judges to what 
is good or ufeful, but to exhibit what is juft and true 5 
and confcquently his eloquence is chiefly addreffed to 
the underftanding. 

At the bar fpeakers addrefs themfelves to one, or 
to a* few judges, who are generally perfons of age, 

N 



1^6 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

gravity, and dignity of character. There thofe ad- 
vantages which a mixed and numerous aflembly af- 
fords for employing all the arts of fpeech are not en- 
joyed. Paffion does not rife fo eafily. The fpeaker 
is heard with more coolnefs ; he is watched with more 
fcverity ; and would expofe himfelf to ridicule by at- 
tempting that high and vehement tone, which is fuit- 
cd only to a multitude. Befide, at the bar, the field 
Df fpeaking is confined within law and ftatute. Im- 
agination is fettered. The advocate has always before 
Mm the line, the fquare, 2nd the compafs. Thefe it 
is his chief bufinefs to be conftantly applying to the 
fubje£ts under debate. 

Hence the eloquence of the bar is of a much more 
limited, more fober and chaftifed kind, than that of 
popular affemblies 5 and confequently the judicial 
orations of the ancients mud not be confidered as 
cxa£t models of that kind of fpeaking which is adapt- 
ed to the prefent ft ate of the bar. With them drift 
law was much lefs an objedl of attention, that it is 
♦with us. In the days of Demofthenes and Cicero the 
municipal ftatutes were few, fimple and general ; 
*nd the decifion of caufes was left in a great meafure 
fcothe equity and common fenfe of the judges. Elo- 
quence, rather than jurifprudence, was the ftudy of 
jpleaders. -Cicero fays that three months' ftudy would 
make a complete civilian ; nay, it was thought that a 
man might be a good pleader without any previous 
ftudy. Among the Remans there was a fet of men, 
called Pragmatici) whofe office it was to fupply the 
crator with all the law knowledge his caufe. required ; 
which- he difpofed in that popular form, aiid decorated 
with thofe colours of eloquence which were moil fit- 
ted for influencing the judges. 



ELOQtfSNCE 0£ THE BAR. 147 

• It may alfo be obferve-d, that the civil and criminal 
judges in Greece and Rom 2 were more numerous 
than with us, and formed a kind of popular aflembly. 
The celebrated tribunal of the Areopagus at Athens 
confided of fifty judges at lead. In Rome the Judlee? 
Setiffi were always numerous, and had the office and 
power of judge and jury. In the famous caufe o£ 
Mil a, Cicero fpoke to fifty-one Judices SeleEli^ and 
thus had the advantage of add re fling his whole plead-* 
ing, not to one or a few learned judges of the point 
pf law, as is the cafe with us, but to an aflembly oi 
Roman citizens. Hence thofe arts of popular elo- 
quence, which he employed with fuch fuccefs. 
Hence certain practices, which would be reckoned 
theatrical by us, were common at the Roman bar ; 
fuch as introducing not only the accufed perfon dreflf- 
ed in deep mourning, but prefenting to the judges his 
family and young children, endeavouring to excite 
pity by their cries and tears. 

The foundation of a lawyer's reputation and fuccefs 
mud be laid in a profound knowledge of his profeffion. 
If his abilities; as a fpeaker, be ever fo eminent ; yet 
if his knowledge of the law be fuperficial, few will 
choofe to engage him in their defence. Befide pre- 
vious fludy and an ample dock of acquired knowl- 
edge, another thing inieparable from the fuccefs of 
every pleader, is a diligent and painful attention to 
every caufe with which he is entrufted.; to all tha 
facts and circumdances with which it is connected. 
Thus he will in a great meafure be prepared for the 
arguments, of his opponent ; and, being previoufly ac- 
quainted with the weak- parts of his own caufe, he 
will be able to fortify them in the bed manner againft'. 
the attack of his adverfary. 



148 euo'qjjence of the bar. 

Though the ancient popular and vehement manner 
of pleading is now in a great meafure fuperfeded, we 
mult not infer that there is no room for eloquence 
at the bar, and that the ftudy of it is fuperfluous. 
There is perhaps no fcene of publick fpeaking, where 
eloquence is more requifite. The drynefs and fub- 
tility of fubjedts ufually agitated at the bar, require,, 
more than any other, a certain kind of eloquence, in 
order to command attention \ to give weight to the 
arguments employed, and to prevent what the plead- 
er advances from pafling unregarded. The effedi 
of good fpeaking is always great. There is as much 
difference in the impreffion made by a cold, dry and 
confufed fpeaker, and that made by one who pleads 
the fame caufe with elegance, order and ftrength, 
as there is between our conception of an objedt, when 
prefented in twilight, and when viewed in the efful- 
gence of noon. 

Purity and neatnefs of expreffion is in this fpecies 
of eloquence chiefly to be ftudied ; a flyle perfpicuous 
and proper, not needlefsly overcharged with the ped- 
antry of law terms, nor affe&edly avoiding thefe, 
when fuitable and requifite. Verbofity is a fault of 
which men of this profeffion are frequently accufed ; 
into which the habit of fpeaking and writing nattily, 
and with little preparation, almoft unavoidably ■betrays 
them. It cannot therefore be too earnefUy recom- 
mended to thofe, who are beginning to practice at the 
bar, that they early guard againfl: this, while they have 4 
leifure for preparation. Let them form them fe Ives -to 
the habit of a ftrong and corre£t ftyle ; which wilt 
become natural to them afterward, when compelled" 
by multiplicity of bufinefs to compofe with preeipita* 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 149 

tton. 'Whereas, if a loofe and negligent ftyle have 
been fuiTered to become familiar, they will not be 
able, even upon occafions when they wifh to make an 
unufual effort, to exprefs themfelves with force and 
elegance. 

Diftin£hiefs in fpeaking at the bar is a capital prop*- 
erty. It fliould be (hown firtl in ftating the queftion^ 
in exhibiting clearly the point in debate 5 what we ad- 
mit ; what we deny ; and where the line of divider* 
begins between us and the adverfe party. Next, it 
fhould appear in the order and arrangement of all the 
parts of the pleading, A clear method is of the high- 
£il confequence in every fpecies of oration *, but in 
thofe intricate cafes, which belong to the bar, it is 
infinitely effentiaL 

Narration of fa£ts fhould always be as concife as- 
the nature of them- will admit. They are always very 
neceffiiry to be remembered 1 confequently unneceffary 
minutenefs in relating them overloads the memory • 
Whereas, if a pleader omit all fuperfluous circum- 
fiances in his- recital, he adds ftrength to the material 
idtis ; gives a clearer view of what he relates, and 
makes the impreffion of it more lading. In argu* 
mentation^ however,- a more difFufe manner feems 
requifite at the bar than on fome other occafions. 
For in popular aflemblies, where the fubje£fc of debate 
is often a plain queftion, arguments gain ftrength by 
concifenefs. But the intricacy of law points frequent- 
ly requires the arguments to be expanded and: placed 
in different lights, in order to be fully apprehended. 

Candour inflating, the arguments of his adverfary 
cannot be too much recommended to every pleader* 
If he difguife them, or place them in a falfe light, thi* 
M 2. 



150 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

artifice will foon be difcovered ; and the judge and 
the hearers will conclude, that he either wants dif- 
rernment to perceive, orfairnefs to admit the ftrength 
of his opponent's reafoning. But if he ftate with ac- 
curacy and candour the arguments ufed againft him, 
before he endeavour to combat them, a (Iron g preju- 
dice is created in his favour. He will appear to have 
entire confidence in his caufe, fince he does not at- 
tempt to fupport it by artifice or concealment. The 
judge will therefore be inclined to receive more readi- 
ly the impreffions made upon him by a fpeaker whq 
appears both fair and penetrating. 

Wit may fometimes be ferviceable at the bar, par- 
ticularly iii a lively reply, by which ridicule is thrown 
on what an adverfary has advanced. But a young 
pleader fbould never reft his ftrength on this dazzling 
talent. His office is not to excite laughter, but ta 
produce conviction ; nor perhaps did any oiie ever 
rife to an eminence in his profeffion by being a witty 
lawyer. 

Since an advocate perfonates his client, he muf| 
plead his caufe with a proper degree of warmth. He 
muft be cautious however of proftituting his earnefi- 
nefs and fenfibility by an equal degree of ardour orv 
every fubject. There is a dignity of character, which 
it is highly important for every one of this profeffion 
to fupport. An opinion of probity and honour in a 
pleader is hi$ mod powerful in {transient of perfuafion. 
He fhould always, therefore, decline embarking in 
caufes which are odious and manifeitly unjuft; and, 
when he fupports a doubtful caufe, he mould lay the 
chief ftrefs upon thofe arguments which appear to him 
to be moll forcible; referving his Zealand indigna- 
tion for cafes where isjuftice and iniquity are flagnmt* 



ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. l$t 



ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 

XjL AVING treated of the eloquence of popu*- 
lar affemblies, and that of the bar,, we (hall now 
confider the (train and fpirit of that eloquence which 
is fuited to the pulpit. This field of publick fpeaking 
has feveral advantages peculiar to itfelf. The dignity 
and importance of its fubjects muft. be allowed to be 
fuperiour to any other. They admit the higheft em- 
bellifhment in description, and the greatefl warmth 
and vehemence of expreffion. In treating his fubje£l 
the preacher has alfo peculiar advantages. He fpeaks 
not to one or a few judges, but to a large aiTembly. 
He is not afraid of interruption. He choofes his fub- 
Je£l at leifure ; and has all the affiftance of the mod 
accurate premeditation. The difadvantages, however,: 
which attend the eloquence of the pulpit, are not in- 
considerable. The preacher, it is true, has no conten- 
tion with an adverfary ; but debate awakens genius, 
and excites attention. His fubjects, though noble, 
are trite and common. They are become fo familiar 
to the publick ear, that it requires no ordinary genius 
in the preacher to fix attention. Nothing is more 
difficult than to bellow on what is common the grace 
of novelty; Befides, the fubjecl of the preacher ufu- 
ally confines him to abftradi: qualities, to virtues and 
vices ; whereas, that of other popular fpeakers leads 
them to treat of perfons; which is generally more in- 
teresting to the hearers, and occupies more powerful- 
ly the imagination. We are taught by the preacher 
to deteft only the crime •, by the pleader to deteft the 
criminal. Hence it happens that, though the number 



l$t ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 

of moderately good preachers is great, fo few have 
arrived at eminence. Perfection is very diftant from 
modern preaching. The object, however, is truly 
noble and worthy of being purfued with zeal. 

To excel in preaching, it is neceffary to have a fix- 
ed and habitual view of its obje£t. This is to per- 
fuade men to become good. Every fermon ought 
therefore to be a perfuafive oration. It is not to dif- 
cufs fome abftrufe point, that the preacher afcends 
the pulpit. It is not to teach his hearers fomething 
new, but to make them better ; to give them at once 
clear views and perfuaiive impreflions of religious 
truths* 

The principal chara£terifiicks of pulpit eloquence r 
as diftinguifhed from the other kinds of publick fpeak- 
ing, appear to be thefe two-) gravity and warmth. It 
is neither eafy nor common to- unite thefe characters 
©f eloqwence. The grave, when it is predominant, 
becomes a dull, uniform folemnity. The warm, when 
k wants gravity, borders- on the light and theatrical. 
A proper union of the two, forms that character of 
preaching, which the French call Oncllon ,• that af~ 
£e£ting, penetrating, and interesting manner, which 
flows from a ftrong. fenfe in the preacher of the im- 
portance of the truths he delivers, and an earneit de- 
fire that they may make full impreffion on the hearts 
ef his hearers. 

A fermon, as a particular fpecies of compofition, 
requires the fl:ri£left attention to unity. By this we 
mean that there fhould be fome main point to which 
the whole tenor of the fermon fhall refer. It mud 
not be a pile of different fubjedts heaped upon each 
other > but one objeft mult predominate through th$ 



ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPlTi I53 

whole. Hence*- however, it mud not be under(tood> 
that there fhould be no divifions or feparate heads in 
a difcourfe ; nor that one fingle thought only fhould 
be exhibited in different points of view. Unity is 
not to be underftood in fo limited a fenfe •, it admits- 
fome variety ; it requires only that union and con- 
nexion be fo far preferved, as to make the whole con- 
cur in fome one imprcflion on the mind. Thus, for 
in (lance, a preacher may employ feveral different ar- 
guments to enforce the love of God 5 he may alfo 
inquire into the caufes of the decay of this virtue * 9 
ftill one great obje£l is prefented to the mind. But 
if becaufe his text fays, " He that loveth God, muft 
" love his brother alfo/' he fhould therefore mix in 
the fame difcourfe arguments for the love of God 
and for the love of our neighbour, he would grofsly 
offend againfl. unity and leave a very confufed imprefi* 
fi'on on the minds of his hearers. 

Sermons are always more finking, and generally 
more ufefui, the more precife and particular the fubje£k 
of them is. Unity can never be fo perfect: in a gen- 
eral, as in a particular fubje£t. General. fubje£is, in- 
deed, fuch as the exelicency or the pleafures of relig- 
ion, are often choien by young preachers, as the moffe 
fhowy? and the eafiefl to be handled ; but thefe fub- 
je£ts produce not the high effects of preaching. At- 
tention is much mare commanded by taking fome par- 
ticular view of a great fubje£l, arid employing on that 
the whole force of argument and eloquence. To rec- 
ommend fome one virtue* or inveigh againfl a partic- 
ular vice, affords a fubje£l not deficient in unity or/ 
precifion. But if that virtue or vice be considered 
as* afftuning.- a particular afpe£t in certain chara£ler& 



154 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 

or certain (ituations in life, the fubjeft becomes dill 
more interefting. The execution is more difficult, 
but the merit and the effe£t are higher. 

A preacher (hould be cautious not to exhauft his 
fabje£l ; fince nothing is more opposite to perfuafion, 
than unneceflary and tedious fulnefs There are aU 
ways fome things which he may fuppofe to be known, 
and fome which require only brief attention. If he 
endeavour to omit nothing which his fubjeft fuggeiis, 
he muft unavoidably encumber it and diminiih its 
force. 

To render his inftru£Hons interefting to his hearers 
fliould be the grand object of every preacher. He 
fhould bring home to their hearts the truths which he 
inculcates, and make each fuppofe hi mfelf particular- 
ly addrefled. He (hould avoid all intricate reafonings \ 
avoid expreffing himfelf in general, fpeculative propo- 
rtions ; or-daying down practical truths in an abitra£t, 
metaphyfical manner. A difcourfe ought to be car- 
ried on in the ftrain of dire£t addrefs to the audience \ 
not in the ftrain of one writing an effay, but one 
fpeaking to a multitude, and ftudymg to conne£l 
what is called application, or what immediately refers 
to pra£tice, with the do£lrinal parts of the fermon. 

It is always highly advantageous to keep in view 
the different ages, characters, and conditions of men, 
and to accommodate directions and exhortations to 
each of thefe different claffes. Whenever you advance 
what touches a man's character, or is applicable to his 
circumftances, you are fure of his attention. No fludy 
is more neceffary for a preacher, than the fludy of 
human life, and of the human heart. To difeover a 
ipaau to himfelf in a light, in which he, never faw his 



ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 1 55 

character before, produces a wonderful effect. Thofe 
fermons, though the moft difficult in compofition, 
are not only the moft beautiful, but alfo the moft 
ufeful, which are founded on the illuftration of feme 
peculiar character, or remarkable piece of hiftory in 
the facred writings •, by purfuing which we may trace, 
and lay open, fome of the moft fecret windings of the 
human heart. Other topicks of preaching are become 
trite ; but this is an extenfive field which hitherto has 
been little explored, and pofiefles ail the advantages 
of being curious, new, and highly ufeful. Bifhop 
Butler's fermons on the chara&er of Balaam is an 
example of this kind of preaching. 

Falhion, which operates fo extenfively on human 
manners has given to preaching at different times a 
change of character. This however is a torrent which 
fwells to-day and fubfides to-morrow. Sometimes 
poetical preaching is fafhionable ; fometimes philo- 
fophical. At one time it muft be all pathetick j at 
another all argumentative \ as fome celebrated preach- 
er has fet the example. Each of thefe modes is very de- 
fective ; and who conforms himfelf to it, will both 
confine and corrupt his genius. Truth and good fenfe 
are the fole bafis, on which he can build with fafety. 
Mode and humour are feeble and unfteady. No ex- 
ample (hould be fervilely imitated. From various 
examples the preacher may collecT materials for im- 
provement ; but fcrvility of imitation .extinguifhes all 
genius, or rather proves entire want of it. 



i$6 COttBUCT OF^A DISCOURSE, 



CONDUCT OF A DISCOURSE IN ALL 
ITS PARTS. INTRODUCTION, DIVISION, 
NARRATION, AND EXPLICATION. 

JLJ.AVING already con ftdered what is pecu- 
liar to each of the three great fields of publick fpeak- 
ing, popular affernblies, the bar, and the pulpit, we 
ihall now treat of what is common to them all, and 
explain the condudt of a difcourfe or oration in 
general. 

The parts which compofe a regular oration are 
thefe fix ; the exordium or introduction ; the ft ate or 
the divifion of the fubje£i •, narration or explication ; 
the reafoning or arguments ; the pathetick part ; and 
the conclufion. It is not neceiTiiry that each of thefe 
enter into every publick difcourfe, nor that they al- 
ways enter in this order. There are many excellent 
difcourfes in which fome of thefe parts are omitted. 
But, as they are the conftituent parts of a regular o- 
ration, and as in every difcourfe fome of them m.uft 
: occur, it is agreeable to our prefent purpofe to ex- 
amine each of them diftincily. 

The defign of the introduction is to conciliate the 
good will of the hearers ; to excite their attention ; 
2nd to render them open to perfuafion. When a 
fpeaker is previoufly fecure of the good will* atten- 
tion, and docility of his audience 5 a formal introduc- 
tion may be omitted. Refpecl for his hearers will in 
that cafe require only a (hort exordium, to prepare 
them for the other parts of his difcourfe. 

The introduction is a part of a difcourfe, which re* 
quires no fmaii care. It is always important to begin 



INTRODUCTION. I57 

well 5 to make a favourable impreflion at firft fetting 
out, when the minds of the hearers, as yet vacant and 
free, are more eafily prejudiced in favour of the fpeak- 
er. We muft add, alfo, that a good introduction is 
frequently found to be extremely difficult. Few parts 
of a difcourfe give more trouble to the compofer, or 
require more delicacy in the execution. 

An introduction fhould be eafy and natural. It 
fhould always be fuggefted by the fubject. The writ- 
er fhould not plan it before he has meditated in his 
own mind the fubftance of his difcourfe. By taking 
the oppofite courfe, and compofing in the firit place 
an introduction, the writer will often find that he is 
either led to lay hold of fome common- place topick, or 
that inftead of the introduction being accomodated 
to the difcourfe, he is under the neceffity of accom- 
modating the difcourfe to the introdu&ion. 

In this part of a difcourfe corre£inefs of expreflion 
fhould be carefully (tudied. This is peculiarly requi- 
fite on account of the fituation of the hearers. A t the 
beginning they are more difpofed to criticife, than at 
any other period ; they are then occupied by the fub- 
je£l and the arguments $ their atttention is entirely di- 
rected to the fpeaker's ftyle and manner. Care there- 
fore is requifite to prepoffefs them in his favour j 
though too much art muft be cautioufly avoided, fince 
it will then be more eafily detected, and will derogate 
from that perfuafion, which the other parts of the 
difcourfe are intended to produce. 

Modefty is alfo an indifpenfable charafleriftick of a 

good introduction. If the fpeaker begin with an air 

of arrogance and orientation, the felf-love and pride 

of his hearers will be prefently awakened, and ioiiow 

o 



358 INTRODUCTION. 

him with a very fufpicious eye through the reft of his 
difcourfe. His modefty fhould appear not only in his 
expreflion, but in his whole manner ; in his looks, in 
his geftures, and in the tone of his voice. Every au-> 
dience is pleafed with thofe marks of refpe£t and awe 
which are paid by the fpeaker. The modefty however 
of an introduction fhould betray nothing mean or ab- 
je£t. Together with modefty and deference to his 
hearers, the orator fhould Ihow a certain fenfe of dig- 
nity, anting from perfuafion of the juftice or import- 
ance of his fubje£l. 

Particular cafes excepted, the orator fhould not put 
forth all his ftrength at the beginning > but it fhould 
rife and grow upon his hearers, as his difcourfe ad- 
vances. The introduction is feldom the place for ve- 
hemence and paflion. The audience muft be gradual- 
ly prepared, before the fpeaker venture on ftrong and 
paffionate fentiments. Yet, when the fubjeet is fuch 
that the very mention of it naturally awakens fome 
paffionate emotion; or when the unexpected pvefence of 
fome perfon orobjefit in a popular afiembly inflames 
the fpeaker ; either of thefe will juftify an abrupt and 
vehement exordium. Thus the appearance of Catiline 
in the fenate renders the violent opening of Cicero's 
firft oration againft him very natural and proper. 
€i Quoufque tandem, Catalina, abutere patentia nof- 
€i tra ?" Biftiop Atterbury preaching fiom this text, 
u Blefled is he, whofoever (hall not be offended in me," 
ventures on this bold exordium : a And can any man 
€f then be offended in thee, blefled Jefus l" Which 
addrefs to our Saviour he continues, till he enters on 
the divifion of his fubjedi. But fuch introductions 
fhould be attempted by very few, fince tbey promife. 







DIVISION. I£p 

fo much vehemence and ardour through the reft of 
the difcourfe, that it is extremely difficult to fatisfy 
the expe&ation of the hearers. 

An introdu£lion fhould not anticipate any material 
part of the fubje£t. When topicks or arguments 
which are afterward to be enlarged upon, are hinted at, 
and in part exhibited in the introduction ; they lofe, 
upon their fecond appearance, the grace of novelty. 
The impreffion, intended to be made by any capital 
thought, is always made with greateft advantage, when 
it is made entire, and in its proper place. 

An introduction fhould be proportioned in length 
and kind to the difcourfe which follows it. In length, 
as nothing can be more abfurd than to ereft a large 
portico before a fmall building ; and in kind, as it is 
no lefs abfurd to load with fuperb ornaments the 
portico of a plain dwelling- houfe ; or to make the ap- 
proach to a monument as gay as that to an arbour. 

After the introduction, the propofition or enuncia- 
tion of the fubje£l, commonly fucceeds ; concerning 
which we (hall only obferve, that it fhould be clear 
and diftinct, and exprefied without affectation, in the 
mod concife and fimple manner. To this generally 
fucceeds the divifion, or laying down the method of 
the difcourfe ; in the management of which the foU 
lowing rules fhould be carefully obferved. 

Fir it, The parts, into which the fubje£fc is divided, 
mu ft be really diftinft from each other. It were an 
abfurd divifion, for example, if a fpeaker mould pro- 
pofe to explain firft the advantages of virtue, and next 
thofe of juftice or temperance ; becaufe the firft head 
plainly comprehends the fecond, as a genus does the 
fpecies. Such a method of proceeding involves the 
fubje£t in confufion. 



ids NARRATION OR EXPLICATION. 

Secondly, We mud be careful always to follow the ' 
order of nature ; beginning with the moll fimple 
points ; with fuch as are molt eafily underflood, and 
neceflary to be firfl difcufled ; and proceeding to thofe 
which are built upon the former, and fuppofe them 
to be known. The fubje£l mull be divided into thofe 
parts into which it is mod eafily and naturally re- 
folved. 

Thirdly, The members of a divifion ought to ex- 
haufl the fubje£l ; otherwife the divifion is incom- 
plete ; the fubje£l is exhibited by pieces only, with- 
out difplaying the whole. 

Fourthly, Let concifenefs and precifion be peculiarly 
ftudied. A divifion always appears to moil advan- 
tage, when the feveral heads are expreffed in the 
cleareil, mod forcible, and feweft words poffible. 
This never fails to ftrike the hearers agreeably ; and 
contributes alfo to make the divifions more eafily re- 
membered. 

Fifthly, Unneceflary multiplication of heads Ihould 
be cautioufly avoided. To divide a fubje£t into many 
minute parts> by endlefs divifions and fubdivifions, 
produces a bad efFe£t in fpeaking. In a logical treatife 
this may be proper ; but it renders an oration hard and 
dry, and unneceffarily fatigues the memory. A fer- 
moti may admit from three, to five or fix heads, 
including fubdivifions ; feldom are more allowable. 

The next conftituent part of a difcourfe is narra- 
tion or explication. Thefe two are joined together, 
becaufe they fall nearly under the fame rules, and be- 
caufe they generally anfwer the fame purpofe ; ferv- 
ing to illuftrate the caufe, or the fubjefl, of which one 
treats, before proceeding to argue on one fide or the 



NARRATION OR EXPLICATION. l6l 

other ; or attempting to intereft the paflions of the 
hearers. 

To be clear and diflincl:, to be probable, and to be' 
concife, are the qualities which criticks chiefly require 
in narration. Diftinctnefs is requifite to the whole of 
the difcourfe, but belongs efpecially to narration, which 
ought to throw light on all that follows. At the bar, 
a fa£t, or a fingle circumftance, left in obfcurity, or 
mifunderttood by the judge, may deftroy the effect of 
all the argument and reafoalng. which the pleader em- 
ploys. If his narration be improbable, it will be dis- 
regarded ; if it be tedious and diffufe, it will fatigue 
and be forgotten. To render narration diftin£t, par* 
ticular attention is requifite in afcertaining clearly the: 
names, dates, places, and every other important cir- 
cumftance of the faclrs recounted; In order to be: 
probable in narration, it is neceflary to exhibit the v 
characters of the perfons of whom we fpeak, and to< 
ihow that their actions proceeded from fuch motives 
as are natural, and likely to gain belief. To be as 
concife as the fubject will admit, all fuperfluous cir- 
eumfUnces muft be rejected; by which the narration? 
will be rendered more forcible and more clean- 
In fermons, explication of the fubject to be dif- 
courfed on occupies the place of narration at the bar,, 
and is to be conducted in a fimilar manner. It mud 
be concife, clear, and diltinct ; in a ftyle correct and' 
elegant, rather than highly adorned. To explain the 
doftrine of the text with propriety ; to give a full and. 
clear account of the nature of that virtue or duty 
wdiich forms the fubject of difcourfe, is properly the 
dida£rick part of preaching ; on the right execution of 
which much depends- In order to fueceed, the- 

O 2 



1 62 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART 

preacher muft mediate profoundly on the fubjeft ; fo 
as to place it in a clear and ftriking point of view. 
He muft confider what light it may derive from other 
paffages of fcripture ; whether it be a fub|e£l nearly 
allied to fome other, from which it ought to be dif- 
tinguifhed •, whether it can be advantageoufly illuf- 
trated by comparing or oppofing it to fome other 
thing ; by fearching into caufes, or tracing effects j by 
pointing out examples, or appealing to the hearts of the 
hearers ; that thus a precife and circumftantial view 
may be afforded of the dofirine inculcated. By dif- 
tintt and apt illuftrations of the known truths of re- 
ligion, a preacher may both difplay great merit, as a 
compofer, and, what is infinitely more valuable, ren- 
#.r his difcourfes weighty, inftrudlive, and ufeful. 



THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DIS- 
COURSE, THE PATHETICK PART, AND 
THE PERORATION. 

J\.S the great end for which men fpeak on 
any ferious occafion, is to convince their hearers that 
fomething is true, or right, or good, and thus to in- 
fluence their pra£tice ; reafon and argument muft 
conftitute the foundation of all manly and perfuafive 
eloquence. 

With regard to arguments, three things are requifite, 
Firft, invention of them ; fecondly, proper difpofition 
and arrangement of them ; and thirdly, expreffing 
them in the mod forcible manner. Invention is un- 
doubtedly the moil material, and the bafis of the reft. 
But in this, art can afford only fmall affiftance. It 



OF A DISCOURSE. l6j 

can aid a fpeaker however in arranging and expreffing 
thofe arguments which his knowledge of the fubject 
has discovered. 

Suppofing the arguments properly chofen, wemufh 
avoid blending thofe together that are of a feparate 
nature. All arguments whatever are intended to 
prove one of thefe three things ; that fomethrng is 
true \ that it i$ right or fit ; or that it is profitable 
and good. Truth, duty, and intereft are the three 
great fubje£ts of difcuflion among men. But the ar- 
guments employed upon either of them are generally 
diftin£t ; and he who blends them all under one top- 
ick which he calls his argument, as in fermons is too 
frequently done, will render his reafoning indiftindi 
and inelegant. 

With refpe£l to the different degrees of ftrength 
in arguments, the common rule is, to advance in the 
way of climax from the weakeft to the moil forcible* 
This method is recommended when the fpeaker is 
convinced that his caufe is clear, and eafy to be prov- 
ed. But this rule rauft not be univerfally obferved. 
If he difrruft his caufe and have but one material ar- 
gument, it is often proper to place this argument in 
the front : to prejudice his hearers early in his favour, 
and thus difpofe them to pay attention to the weaker 
reafons which he may afterward introduce. When 
amid a variety of arguments there is one or two more 
feeble than the reft, though proper to be ufed, Cicero 
advifes to place them in the middle, as a fituation lefs 
confpicuous, than either the beginning or end of the 
train of reafoning. 

When arguments are ftrong and fatisfacrory, 
the more they .are feparated the better. Each can 



1^4 TH£ PATHETICS PART. 

then bear to be introduced alone, placed in its full 
light, amplified and contemplated. But, when they 
are of a doubtful or prefumptive nature, it is fafer to 
crowd them together, to form them into a phalanx, 
that, though individually weak, they may mutually 
fupport each other. 

Arguments mould, never be extended too far, nor 
multiplied two much. This ferves rather to render a 
caufe fufpicious, than to increafe its ftrength. A need- 
lefs multiplicity of arguments burdens the memory, 
and diminifhes the weight of that convidHon which a 
few well ehofen arguments produce. To expand them 
alfo beyond the bounds of reasonable illuftration is al- 
ways enfeebling. When a fpeaker endeavours toex- 
pofe a favourable argument in every light poflible, fa- 
tigued by the effort, he lofes the fpirit, with which he 
fet out ; and ends with feeblenefs,, what he began 
with force. 

Having attended thus far to the proper arrangement 
ef arguments, we proceed to another eflential part of 
a difcourfe, the pathetick \ in which if any where, elo- 
quence reigns and exerts its power. On this head 
the following directions appear ufeful. * 

Confider carefully whether the fubjecl admit the 
pathetick, and render itproper J and, if it do, what part 
of the difcourfe is mod fit for it. To determine thefe 
points belongs to good fenfe. Many fubje&s admit 
not the pathetick ; and even in thofe that are fufcep- 
tible of it, an attempt to excite the paflions in a wrong 
place may expofe an orator to ridicule. It may ia 
general be obferved, that, if we expert any emotion 
which we raife, to have a lafting effect we mud fe~ 
sure in our favour the understanding and judgments 



the pathetics: part. l<5$ 

The hearers mud be fatisfied that there are fufficient 
grounds for their engaging in the caufe with zeal and 
ardour. When argument and reafoning have produc- 
ed their full effe&, the pathetick is admitted with the 
greateft force and propriety. 

A fpeaker fhould cautioufly avoid giving his hearers 
warning that he intends to excite their paffions. 
Every thing of this kind chills their fenfibility. There 
is alfo a great difference between telling the hearers 
that they ought to be moved, and actually moving 
them. To every emotion or paffion nature has adapt- 
ed certain correfponding objects; and without fetting 
thefe before the mind, it is impoffible for an orator to 
excite that emotion. We are warmed with gratitude, 
we are touched with companion, not when a fpeaker 
fhows us that thefe are noble difpofitions, and that it 
is our duty to feel them 5 nor when he exclaims againfl 
us for our indifference and coldnefs. Hitherto he ha£ 
addreffed only our reafon or confcience. He muft 
defcribe the kindnefs and tendernefs of our fr>nd ^ 
he muft exhibit the diftrefs fuffered by the perlbn 
for whom he would intereft us. Then, and notbefore, 
our hearts begin to be touched, our gratitude or com- 
panion begins to flow. The bafis, therefore, of all fuc- 
cefsfuf execution in pathetick oratory, is to paint the 
object of that paffion which we defire toraife, in the 
moll natural and (Inking manner ; to defcribe it with 
fuch circumftances as are likely to awaken it in the 
minds of others. 

To fucceed in the pathetick, it is neceflary to attend 
to the proper language of the paffions. This, if we 
confult nature, we (hall ever find is unaffected and 
fimple. It may be animated by bold and ftrong fig~ 



166 THE PER0RATI9N. 

ures, but it will have no ornament, nor finery. There 
is a great difference between painting to the imagina- 
tion and to the heart. The one may be done with de- 
liberation and coolnefs ; the other muft always be rapid 
and ardent. In the former, art and labour may be fuf- 
fered to appear •, in the latter no proper effecT: can be 
produced, unlefs it be the work of nature only. Hence 
all digrefiions Ihould be avoided which may interrupt 
or turn a fide the fwell of paffion. Hence comparifons 
are always dangerous, "and commonly quite improper 
in the midil of the pathetick. It is alfo to be obferved, 
that violent emotions cannot be lading. The pathetick 
therefore (houldnot be prolonged too much. Due re- 
gard fhould always be preferved to what the hearers 
will bear ; for he who attempts to carry them farther 
in paflion than they will follow him, fruflrates his 
purpofe. By endeavouring to warm them too much, 
he takes the fureft method of freezing them com- 
pletely. 

Concerning the peroration or conclufion of a dif- 
courfe, a few words will be fufhcient. Sometimes the 
whole pathetick part comes in mod properly at the con- 
conclufion. Sometimes when the difcourfe has been al- 
together argumentative, it is proper to conclude with 
fumming up the arguments, placing them in one view, 
and leaving the impreffion of them full and ftrong on 
the minds of the hearers. For the great rule of a 
conclufion^and what nature obviouily fuggefts,is, place 
that laft on which you choofe to reft the ftrength of 
your caufe 

In every kind of publick fpeaking it is important to 
hit the precife time of concluding ; to bring the dif- 
courfe juft to a point * neither ending abruptly and 



PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY I $7 

unexpectedly, nor difappointing the expe&ation of 
the hearers, when they look for the end of thedifcourfe. 
The fpeaker fliould always clofe with dignity and 
fpirit, that the minds of the hearers may be left warm, 
and that they may depart with a favourable impreflion 
of the fubjed and of himfelf. 



PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 

X HE great obje&s to which every publick 
fpeaker {hould direct his attention in forming his deliv- 
ery, are, firft, to fpeak fo as to be fully and eafily under- 
ftood by his hearers ; and next, to exprefs himfelf with 
fuch grace and energy as to pleafe and to move them. 
To be fully and eafily underftood, the chief requisites 
are, a due degree of loudnefs of voice, diftin&nefs, 
flownefs, and propriety of pronunciation. 

To be heard is undoubtedly the firft requifite. The 
fpeaker rruft endeavour to fill with his voiee the fpace 
occupied by the aflembly. Though this power ofvoice 
is in a great meafure a natural talent, it may receive 
confiderable aflS fiance from art Much depends on the 
proper pitch and management of the voice. Every man 
has three pitches in his voice ; the high, the mid- 
dle, and the low. The high is ufed in calling aloud to 
iome one at a diiiance ; the low approaches to a whif- 
per ; the middle is that which is employed in common 
converfation, and which fliould generally be ufed in 
publick ipeakirg. For it is a great error to fuppofe 
that the higheft pit< h of the voice is requifite to be well 
heard by a great "aflembly. This is confounding tw r o 



1 68 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 

things materially different, loudnefs or ftrength of found 
with the key or note on which we fpeak. The voice 
may be rendered louder without altering the key ; and 
the fpeaker will always be able to give moft body, moil 
perfevering force of found, to that pitch of voice to 
which inconverfation he is accuftomed. Whereas, if 
he begin on the higheft key he will fatigue himfelf and 
fpeak with pain ; and, wherever a man fpeaks with pain 
to himfelf, he is always heard with pain by his audience. 
Give the voice therefore full ftrength and fwell of found 
but always pitch it on your ordinary fpeaking key ; a 
greater quantity of voice (hould never be uttered than 
can be afforded without pain, and without any extraor- 
dinary effort. To be well heard, it is ufeful for a 
fpeaker to fix his eye on fome of the moft diilant per- 
fons in the affembly, and to confider himfelf as fpeak- 
ing to them. We naturally and mechanically utter 
our words with fuch ftrength, as to be heard by one 
to whom we addrefs ourfelves, provided he be within 
the reach of our voice. This is the cafe inpublick fpeak- 
ing, as well as in common converfation. But it muft 
be remembered, that fpeaking too loudly is peculiarly 
offenfive. The ear is wounded when the voice comes 
upon it in rumbling, indiftindl maffes ; befide, it ap- 
pears as if affent were demanded by mere vehemence 
and force of found. 

To being well heard and clearly underftood, diftinifi- 
nefs of articulation is more conducive, perhaps, than 
mere loudnefs of found. The quantity of found requi- 
fite to fill even a large fpace, is iefs than is commonly 
fuppofed ; with difti articulation a man of a 

weak voice will m; ;c! further than the itrong- 

eft voice canrea.: ut it. This therefore demands 



PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. \6(f 

peculiar attention. The fpeaker muft give every found 
its due proportion, and make every fyllable, and even 
every letter, be heard diftin&ly. To fucceed in this, 
rapidity of pronunciation muft be avoided. A lifelefs 
drawling method, however, is not to be indulged. To 
pronounce with a proper degree of flownefs and with 
full and clear articulation cannot be too induftrioufly 
ftudied, nor too earneftly recommended. Such pronun- 
ciation gives weight and dignity to a difcourfe. It affifts 
the voice by the paufes and refts which it allows it 
more eafily to make; and it enables the fpeaker to 
fwell all his founds with more energy and more mufick. 
It affifts him alfo in preferving a due command of 
himfelf ; whereas a rapid and hurried manner excites 
that flutter Gf fpirits which is the greateft enemy to 
all right execution in oratory. 

To propriety of pronunciation nothing is more con- 
ducive than giving to every word which we utter, 
that found which the mod polite ufage appropriates to 
it, in oppofition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronun- 
ciation. On this fubje£t, however, written inftru&ions 
avail nothing. But there is one obfervation which it 
may be ufeful to make. In our language every word 
of more fyllables than one, has one accented fyllable* 
The genius of the language requires the voice to mark 
that fyllable by a ftronger percuffion, and to pafs more 
{lightly over the reft. The fame accent mould be given 
to every word in publick fpeaking and in common dif- 
courfe. Many perfons err in this refpedt. When they 
fpeak in publick and with folemnity, they pronounce dif- 
ferently from what they do at other times. They dwell 
upon fyllables, and protraft them ; they multiply ac- 
cents on the fame word, from a falfe idea that it gives 
p 



1 7© PRONUNCIATION OPw DELITERY. 

gravity and force to their difcourfe, and increafes thf 
pomp of publick declamation. But this is one of the 
greateft faults which can be committed in pronuncia- 
tion ; it conftitutes what is termed a theatrical or 
mouthing manner, and gives an artificial, affected air 
to fpeech, which detracts greatly from its agreeable 
yefs and its impreffion. 

We (hall now treat of thofe higher parts of delivery, 
by Undying which a fpeaker endeavours not merely to 
render hirnfelf intelligible, but to give grace and force 
to what he utters. Thefe may be comprehended under 
four heads, emphafis, paufes, tones, and geftures. 

By emphafis is meant a fuller and ftronger found of 
voice, by which we diftinguifh the accented fyllable of 
fome word, on which we intend to lay particular 
ftrefs, and to (how how it affects the reft of the fen- 
tence. To acquire the proper management of empha- 
fis, the only rule is, fludyto acquire ajuft conception 
of the force and fpirit of thofe fentiments which you 
lire to deliver. In all prepared difcourfes it would 
be extremely ufeful if they were read over or re- 
hearfed in private, with a view of ascertaining the 
proper emphafis, before they were pronouncedin pub- 
lick •, marking at the fame time the emphatical word* 
In every fentence, or at lead in the moil important 
parts of the difcourfe, and fixing them well in memory. 
A caution, however, muft be given againft multiplying 
emphatical words too much. They become {inking, 
only when ufed with prudent xeferve. If they recur 
too frequently •, if a fpeaker attempt to render every 
thing which he fays of high importance, by a multi- 
tude of ftrong emphafes, they will foon fail to excit* 
the attention of his hearers. 



PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 1/1 

Next to emphafis, paufes demand attention. They 
are of two kinds ; fir ft, emphatical paufes ; and fee- 
ondiy, fuch as mark the diftin£iions of fenfe. An 
emphatical paufe is made after fomething has been 
faid of peculiar moment, on which we with to fix 
the hearer's attention. Sometimes a matter of im- 
portance is preceded by a paufe of this nature. Such 
paufes have the fame effect with ftrong emphafes, 
and are fubject to the fame rules ; efpecially to the 
caution juft now given, of not repeating them too 
frequently. For, as they excite uncommon attention 
and confequently raife expectation, if this be not fully 
anfwered, they occafion difappointment and difguft. 

But the moil frequent and the principal ufe of paufes 
is, to mark the divifions of the fenfe, and at the fame! 
time to permit the fpeaker to draw his bre^tli $ and 
the proper management of fuch paufes is one of the 
moft nice and difficult articles in delivery. A proper 
command of the breath is peculiarly requifite. To 
obtain this, every fpeaker fhould be very careful to 
provide a full fupply of breath for what he is to utter. 
It is a great miftake to fuppofe that the breath muft 
be drawn only at the end of a period, when the voice 
is allowed to fall. It may eafily be gathered at the 
intervals of a period ; when the voice fuffers only a 
momentary fufpenfion. By this management a fuffi- 
cient fupply may be obtained for carrying on the 
iongeit period without improper interruptions. 

Paufes in publick difcourfe muft be formed upon the 
manner in which we exprefs ourfelves in fenfible con- 
verfation, and not upon the ftiff, artificial manner, 
which we acquire from perufing books according to 
common punctuation. Punctuation in general is very 



172 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 

arbitrary ; often capricious and falfe ; diclafing a uni=» 
formity of tone in the paufes, which is extremely un- 
pieafmg. For it muft be obferved, that, to render 
paufes graceful and expreffive they muft not only be 
made in the right places, but alfo be accompanied by 
proper tones of voice •, by which the nature of thefe 
paufes is intimated much, more than by their length, 
which can never be exaclly meafured. Sometimes on- 
ly a flight and fimple fufpenfion of the voice is proper j 
fometimes a degree of cadence is requifite ; and fome- 
times that peculiar tone and cadence which mark the 
conclufion of a period. In all thefe cafes, a fpeaker is 
to regulate himfelf by the manner in which he fpeaks, 
when engaged in earned difcourfe with others. 

In reading or reciting verfe, there is a peculiar diffi- 
culty in making the paufes with propriety. There 
are two kinds of paufes, which belong to the mufickof 
verfe \ one at the end of a line, and the other in the 
middle of it. Rhyme always renders the former fend- 
ble, and compels obfervance of it in pronunciation. 
in blank verfe it is lefs perceivable ; and when there 
is no fufpenfion of the fenfe, it has been doubted, 
whether in reading fuch verfe any regard fhould be 
paid to the clofe of a line. On the ftage, indeed, 
where the appearance of fpeaking in verfe fhould be 
avoided^ the clofe of fuch lines as make no paufe in 
tie fenfe fhould not be rendered perceptible to the ear. 
On other occasions we ought, for the fake of melody, 
ro read blank verfe in fuch manner as to make each 
line fenfible to the ear. In attempting this, however, 
every appearance of fing-fong and tone muft be cau- 
ucufiy avoided. The clofe of a line, where there is 
no paufe in the meaning, fhould be marked only by 



PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 1 73 

to flight a fufpenfion of found, as may diftinguifh the 
paflage from one line to another, without injuring the 
fenfe. 

The paufe in the middle of the line falls after the 
4th, 5th, 6th, or 7th fyllable, and no other. When 
this paufe coincides with the flighted divifion in the 
fenfe, the line may be read with eafe \ as in the two 
firlt verfes of Pope's Meffiah : 

Ye nymphs of Solyma, begin the fong, 

To heavenly themes fublimer ftrains belong. 

But if words, that have fo intimate a connexion, 
as not to admit even a momentary feparation, be divid- 
ed from each other by this csefural paufe ; we then 
perceive a conflict between the fenfe and found, 
which renders it difficult to readfuch lines gracefully. 
In fuch cafes it is beft to facrifice found to fenfe. 
For infiance, in the following lines ef Milton: 

., - — What in me is dark, 

Illumine; what is low, raife and fupport. 

The fenfe clearly dictates the paufe after " illumine," 
which ought to be obferved \ though, if melody only 
were to be, regarded, " illumine'* fhould be connected 
with what follows, and no paufe made before the 4th 
or 6th fyllable. So alfo in the following line of Pope's 
Epiftle to Arbuthnot : 

I iii; with- fad civility I read. 

The ear points out the paufe as falling after W fad," 
the fourth fyllable. But to feparate " fad" and 
" civility" would be very bad reading. The fenfe al- 
lows no other paufe than after the fecond fyllable, 
if fit j" which therefore is the only otie to b»: obfezved. 



174 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 

jWe proceed to treat of tones in pronunciation 
>%TOnch are different both from emphafes and paufes 5 
confiding in the modulation of the voice, the notes or 
variations of found which are employed in publick 
fpeaking. The mod material inftrutStion which can 
be given on this fubje£t r is to form the tones of pub- 
lick fpeaking upon the tones of animated converfation. 
Every one who is engaged in fpeaking on a fubjecV 
which interefts- him- nearly, has an eloquent or per- 
fuafive tone and manner. But, when a fpeaker de- 
parts from his natural tone of ex predion, he becomes » 
frigid and unperfuafive. Nothing is more abfurd 
than to fuppofe that as foon as a fpeaker afc^nds a 
pulpit, or rifes in a publick affembly, he is inftantly to 
lay afide the voice with which he expreffes himfelf in 
private, and to affume a new, ft u died tone, and a cadence 
altogether different from his natural manner. This 
has vitiated all delivery, and has given rife to cant and 
tedious monotony. Let every publick fpeaker guard 
againft this error. Whether he fpeak in private, or 
in a great affembly, let him remember that he ftilL 
i'peaks. Let him take nature for his guide, and {he 
will teach him to exprefs his fentiments and feelings 
in fuch manner, as to make the mod forcible and: 
pleafing impreffion upon the minds of his hearers.. 

It now remains to treat of gefture, or what is call- 
ed act ion in publick. difcourfe. The beft rule is, at- 
tend to the looks and gefture in which earnednefs, 
indignation, compaffion, or any other emotion, difcov— 
ers itfelf to moil advantage in the common intercourfe 
©f men \ and let thefe be your model. A publick 
fpeaker mud, however, adopt that manner which is 
mod natural to himfelf. tlis motions and geduros 



PRONUNCIATION OR BELTVEltY. fjfi; 






•ught all to exhibit that kind of expreffion which na- 
ture has di&ated to him ; and, unlefs this be the 
cafe, no ftudy can prevent their appearing, ftiffi and 
forced. But, though nature is the bafis on whiclr 
every grace of gefture mufl be founded^yet there is 
room for fome improvements of art. The ftudy of 
action confifts chiefly in guarding againft awkward 
and difagreeable motions, and in learning to perform 
fiich as are natural to the fpeaker, in the mod grace- 
ful manner. Numerous are the rules which writers 
have laid down for the attainment of a proper geiiicu- 
lation. But written inftrutlions on this fubjecT: can be 
of little fervice. To become ufeful, they mud be ex- 
emplified. A few of the fimpleft precepts,. however,, 
may be obferved with advantage,- Every fpeaker 
fhould ftudy to prefer ve as much dignity as poffibfe 
in the attitude of his body. He fhould generally pre- 
fer an erect pofture; his pofition fhould be firm, 
that he may have the fulleft and freeft command of 
all his motions* If any inclination be ufed, it fhould 
be toward the hearers, which is a natural expreffion- 
of earneftnefs. The countenance fhould correfpond; 
with the nature of the difcourfe ; and, when no par- 
ticular emotion is exprefled, a ferious and manly look: 
is always to be preferred. The eyes fhould never be fix- 
ed entirely on any one object, but move eafily round the- 
audience. In motion, made with the hands, confifts 
the principal part of gefture in fpeaking. It. is natur- 
al for the right hand- to be employed more frequently 
than the left. Warm emotions require the exercife 
of them both together. But, whether a fpeaker gefticu* 
late with one, or with both his hands, it is important: 
that all his motions be eafy and unred rained, N33* 



l*]6 MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE. 

row and confined movements are ufually ungraceful ; 
and confequently motions made with the hands, 
ftiould proceed from the flioulder, rather than from 
the elbow. Perpendicular movements are to be avoid- 
ed. Oblique motions are mod pleafing and grace- 
ful. Sudden and rapid motions are feldom good. 
Earnednefs can be fully exprefled without their af- 
fiftance. 

We cannot conclude this fubjeft without earneftly 
admonifhing every fpeaker to guard againft affecta- 
tion, which is the dedru£Uon of good delivery. Let 
his manner, whatever it be, be his own ; neither imi- 
tated from another, nor taken from fome imaginary 
model, which is unnatural to him. Whatever is na- 
tive, though attended by feveral defeats, is likely to 
pleafe, becaufe it {hows us the man ; and bocaufe it 
lias the appearance of proceeding from the heart. To 
attain a delivery extremely correct and graceful, is 
what few can expedt ; fince fo many natural talents 
muft concur in its formation. But to acquire a 
forcible and perfuafive manner, is within the power of 
moft perfons. They need only to difmifs bad habits, 
follow nature, and fpeak in publick as they do in 
private, when they fpeak in earned ari3 from the heart- 



MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE 

X O thofe who are anxious to excel in any of 
the higher kinds of oratory, nothing is more necelTary 
than to cultivate habits of the feveral virtues, and to 
refine and improve their moral feelings. A true ora- 
tor mud poffefs generous fentimeius, warm feel- 



6eans of improving in eloquence. I7f 

ings, and a mind turned toward admiration of 
thofe great and high objects which men are by nature 
formed to venerate. Connected with the manly vir- 
tues, he fhould poffefs ftrong and tender fenPibility to 
all the injuries, diftreffes, and fbrrows of his fellow- 
creatures. 

Next to moral qualifications, "what is mod requifite 
for an orator, is a fund of knowledge. There is no 
art by which eloquence can be taught in any fphere, 
without a fufficient acquaintance with what belongs to 
that fphere. Attention to the ornaments of ftyle can 
only affiil an orator in fetting off to advantage the 
ftock of materials which he pofleffes ; but the mate- 
rials themfeives rnuft be derived from other fources 
than from rhetorick. A pleader mud make himfelf 
completely acquainted with the law ; he muft poffefs 
all that learning and experience which can be ufeful 
for fupporting a caufe, or convincing a judge. A 
preacher muft apply himfelf clofely to the ftudy of 
divinity, of practical religion, of morals and of hu- 
man nature , that he may be rich in all tcpicks of in- 
ftruflion and perfuafion. He who v/ifhes to excel in 
the fupreme council of the nation, or in any publick af- 
fembly, {hould be thoroughly acquainted with the 
bufmefs that belongs to fuch affembly ; and fnould at- 
tend with accuracy to all the fadls which may be the 
fubjedt of queftion or deliberation. 

Befide the knowledge peculiar to his profeffion, a 
publick fpeaker (hould be acquainted with the general 
circle of polite literature: Poetry he will find ufeful 
for embellifhing his ftyle, for fuggefting lively images, 
or pleafing illuficns Iiiory may be (till more ad- 
vantageous j as the knowledge of fa£ts, of eminent 



TJ*. M&ANS OF IMPROVING Itf ELOQUENCE.' 

characters, and of the courfe of human affairs, finds' 
place on' many occafions. Deficiency of knowledge 
even in fubje£ts not immediately connected with his 
profeflion, will expofe a puhlick fpeaker to many di fad- 
vantages, and give his rivals, who ate better qualified, 
a decided fuperiority. 

To every one who wifhes to excel in eloquence, 
application and indultry cannot be too much recom- 
mended. Without this it is impofiible to excel in 
any thing. No one ever became a diitinguifned plead- 
er, or preacher, or fpeaker in any aflembly, without 
previous labour and application. Induflry indeed is 
not only neceffary to every valuable acq-uifition, but 
it is defigned by Providence as the feafoning of every 
pleafure, without which life is doomed to languifh. 
No enemy is fo deitrudive both to honourable attain- 
ments, an I to the real and fpirited enjoyments of life, 
as that relaxed ftate of mind, which proceeds from 
indolence and diflipation. He who is deftined to 
excel in any art will be diftinguifhed by enthufiafm 
for that art j which, firing his mind with the obje&fc 
in view, will difpofe him to reliih every neceffary la- 
bour. This was the characreriilick of the great men 
of antiquity ; and this mud diftinguifh moderns who 
wiQi to imitate them. This honourable enthufiafm 
fhould be cultivated by ftudents in oratory. If it be 
wanting to youth, manhood will (lag exceedingly. 

Attention to the beft models contributes greatly tb 
improvement in the arts 5 of fpeaking and writing. 
Every one indeed fliould endeavour to have fomething 
that is his own, that is peculiar to himfelf, and will 
diftinguifh his ftyle. Genius is certainly depreffed, or 
Wajit of it betrayed, by flavifh imitation. Yet nm 



,MMNS OF IMPROVIKG IN ELOQUENCE. 1^ 

genius is fo original, as not to receive improvement 
•from proper examples in ftyle, compofition, and de- 
livery. They always afford fome new ideas, and fervc 
to enlarge and correft our own. They quicken the 
current of thought 2nd excite emulation. 

In imitating the ftyle of a favourite author, a mate- 
rial diftin£tion fhould be obferved between written and 
fpoken language. Thefe are in reality two different 
modes of communicating ideas. In books we expect 
corre£inefs, precifion, all redundancies pruned, all 
repetitions avoided, language completely polifhed. 
Speaking allows a more eafy, copious ftyle, and lefs 
confined by rule ; repetitions may often be requifite ; 
parenthefes may fometimes be ornamental •, the fame 
thought mud often be placed in different points of 
view; fmce the hearers can catch it only from the mouth 
of the fpeaker, and have not the opportunity, as in 
reading, of turning back again, and of contemplating 
what they clq not entirely comprehend. Hence the 
ftyle of many good authors would appear ftiff, affect- 
ed, and even obfeure, if transferred into a popular o- 
ration. How unnatural, for inftarice, would Lord 
Shaftefbury's fentences found in the mouth of a pub- 
lick fpeaker ? Some kinds of publick difcourfe indeed, 
fuch as that of the pulpit, where more accurate prep- 
aration and more ftudied ftyle are allowable, would 
admit fuch a manner better than others, which are 
expecled to approach nearer to extemporaneous /peak- 
ing. But fiiil there is generally fuch a difference be- 
tween a compofition, intended only to be read, and 
one proper to be fpoken, as fhould caution us againft 
a clpfe and improper imitation. 

The compofition of fome authors approaches near- 
er to the ftyle of fpeaking than that of others, ani 



,lSo MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE. 

they may therefore be imitated with more fafety. In 
our own language, Swift and Bolingbroke are of this 
defcription. The former, though correal, preserves 
the eafy and natural manner of an unaffected fpeaker. 
The ftyle of the latter is more fplendid /, but ftill it is 
r the ftyle of fpeaking, or rather of declamation. 

Frequent exercife both in compofing and fpeaking is 
a neceffary mean of improvement. That kind of com* 
pofition is moil: ufeful which is connected with the 
profefiion, or fort of publick fpeaking, to which per* 
fons devote themfelves. This they (hould ever keep 
in view, and gradually inure themfelves to it. At the 
fame time they (hould be cautious not to allow them- 
felves to compofe negligently on any pccafion. He 
who w T ifhes to write or fpeak correctly, {hould in the 
moll trivial kind of compofition, in writing a letter, 
or even in common converfation, ftudy to exprefs 
himfelf with propriety. By this we do not mean that 
he is never to write or fpeak, but in elaborate and ar- 
tificial language. This would introduce ftiffnefs ?md 
affectation, infinitely worfe j^an the greatefl: negli- 
gence. But we muft obferye, that there is in every 
thing a proper and becoming manner ; and on the 
contrary, there is alio an awkward performance of the 
fame thing. The becoming manner is often the mod 
light, and feemingly moil carelefs ; but tafle and at- 
tention are requiate to feise the juft idea of it. That 
idea, when acquired, (hould be kept in view, and up- 
on it (hould be formed, whatever we write or fpeak. 

Exercifes in fpeaking have always been recommend- 
ed to (Indents ; and, when undejr proper regulation, 
muft be of great ufe. Thofe publick and promifcuou$ 
fociedes in which numbers are brought together who 



MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQJCJENCE. l8l 

are frequently of low ftations and occupations \ who 
are connected by no common bond of union, except 
a ridiculous rage for pubiick fpeaking, and have no 
other obje£l in view than to exhibit their fuppofed 
talents ; are inftitutions not only ufelefs, but injuri- 
ous. They are calculated to become feminaries of 
-licentioufnefs, petulance, and faction. Even the al- 
lowable meetings into which ftudents of oratory may 
form themfelves, need direction in order to render 
them ufeful. If their fuhjedls of diicourie be improp- 
erly chofen; if theyfupport extravagant or indecent 
icks ; if they indulge themfelves inloofe and fiimfy dec- 
lamation ; or accuftom themfelves without preparation 
to fpeak pertly on all fubje£ts, they will unavoidably 
acquire a very faulty and vicious tafte in fpeak 
It (hould therefore be recommended to all thofe who 
are members of fuch focieties,to attend to the choice of 
their fubje£ts ; to take care that they be ufeful and 
manly, either connected with the courfe of their (Ind- 
ies, or related to morals and tafte, to aflion and life. 
They (hould alfo be temperate in the pra£Uce of 
■fpeaking ; not to fpeak too often* nor on fubjefts of" 
which they are ignorant, but only when they have 
proper materials for a difcourfe, and have previoufly 
confidered and digefted the fubjech In fpeaking they 
fhould be cautious always to keep good fenfe and 
perfuafion in view, rather than a (how of eloquence. 
By thefe means they will gradually form themfelvas 
to a manly, correct, and perfuaiive manner of fpeaking. 
It may now be aiked of what ufe will the ft.udy of 
critical and rhetorical writers be to thofe who wifh to 
excel in eloquence ? They certainly ought not to be 
neglected > and yet perhaps very much cannot be e$- 



i$2 MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE. 

peeled from them. It is, however, from the original 
ancient writers that the greateft advantage may be 
derived ; and it is a difgrace to any one, whofe pro- 
feflion calls him to fpeak in publick, to be unacquaint- 
ed with them. In all the ancient rhetorical writers 
there is indeed one defect ; they are too fyftematic- 
al. They aim at doing too much ; at reducing 
rhetorick to a perfedi art, which may even fupply in- 
vention with materials on every fubje£t ; fo that one 
would fuppofe they expe&ed to form an orator by 
rule, as they would form a carpenter. But in reality 
all that can be done is to affift and enlighten tafte, 
and to point out to genius the courfe it ought to hold. 

Ariftotle was the firft who took rhetorick out of 
the hands of the fophifts, and founded it on reafon 
and folid fenfe. Some of the profoundeft obfervations, 
which have been made on the paffions and manners 
of men, are to be found in his Treatife on Rhetorick ; 
though in this, as in all his writings, his great concifenefs 
often renders him obfeure. The Greek rhetoricians 
who fucceeded him, moft of whom are now loft, im- 
proved on his foundation. Two of them ftill remain, 
Demetrius Phalerius, and Dionyfms of Halicarnaffus. 
Both wrote on the conftruftion of fentences, and de- 
ferve to be confulted \ particularly Dionyfius, who is a 
very accurate and judicious critick. 

To recommend the rhetorical writings of Cicero is 
fuperfluous. Whatever on the fubjed of eloquence 
is fuggelted by fo great an orator, muft be worthy of 
attention. His moft extenfive work on this fubje£l is 
that De Oratore. None of his writings are more 
highly Enifhed than this treatife* The dialogue is 
polite \ the characters are well fupported, and the 



eoMPARISONOF THE ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 183 

management of the whole is beautiful and pieafing. 
The Orator ad M. Brutum is alfo a valuable treatife ; 
and indeed through all Cicero's rhetorical works are 
difplayed thofe fublime ideas of eloquence, which are 
calculated to form a j.uft taile, and to infpire that en* 
thufiafm for the art, which is highly conducive to ex- 
cellence. 

But of all ancient writers on the fubje£l of oratory 
the moft inilruclive and molt ufefui is Quintilian.. 
His inftitutions abound with good fenfe, and difcover 
a tafte in the higheft degree juft and. accurate. AU 
moft all the principles of good ctiticifm are found in 
them. He has well digefted the ancient ideas concern- 
ing rhetorick, and has delivered his inPcruftions in ele* 
gant and poliihed language. 



COMPARATIVE' MERIT OF THE ANCIENTS 
AND MODERNS. 

J\. VERY curious queftion has been agitated 
with regard to the comparative merit of the ancients 
and moderns. In France, this difpute was carried on 
with great heat between Boileau and Madame Dacier 
for the ancients, and Perrault and La Motte for the 
moderns. Even at this day, men of letters are divided 
on the fubject. A few reflections upon it may be 
ufeful. 

To decry the ancient clafficks is a vain attempt* 
Their reputation is eftablifhed upon too folid a found- 
dation to be fhaken-. Imperfections may be traced in> 
their writings ; but to difcredit their works in general 
ean belong only to peeviftmefs or prejudice. The 



^$4 COMPARISON OF THE 

approbation of the puhlick through fo many centuries 
eftablifhes a verdi£i in their favour, from which there 
is no appeal. 

In matters of mere reafoning, the world may be 
long in errors and fyftems of philofophy often have a 
currency for a time, and then die. But in obje&s of 
tafle there Is no fuch fallibility ; as they depend not 
on knowledge and fcience, but upon fentiment and 
feeling. Now the univerfal feeling of mankind mud 
be right ; Homer and Virgil therefore muft continue 
to ftand upon the fame ground which they have fo 
long occupied. 

Let us guard however aggtuft blind veneration for 
the ancients, -\n6 inftitttie n fair m urn .between 

them and the moderns, If the v had the pre* 

eminence in genius, yet the moderns muft have Tome 
advar all arts which are improved by the mU 

feral progrefs of knowledge, 

Hence in natural philofophy, afironomy, chymiftry^.. 
and other fciences, which reft upon obfervation of fads 
the moderns have a decided fuperiority over the an- 
cients. Perhaps too in preqife reafoning, .philofopherS- 
of modern ages are fuperiour to thofe of ancient times % 
as a more extenfive literary intercourfe has contributed 
to fharpen the faculties of men. The moderns have 
alfo the fuperiority in hiftory and in political knowU 
edge 5 owing to the extenfion of commerce, the dif- 
covery of different countries, the fuperiour facility of 
intercourfe, and the multiplicity of events and revolu- 
tions which have taken place in the world. In po* 
etry likewife fome advantages have been gained in 
point of regularity and accuracy. In dramatick per- 
formances, improvements have certainly been mads 



ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 1 85 

upon the ancient models. The variety of chara&ers 
is greater ; greater (kill has been diiplayed in the con- 
duct of the plot ; and a happier attention to probabil- 
ity and decorum. Among the ancients we find high- 
er conceptions, greater fimplicity, and more original 
fancy. Among the moderns there is more of art and 
corre£tnefs, butlefs genius. But though this remark 
may in general be juft, there are fome exceptions 
from it \ Milton and Shakefpeare are inferiour to no 
poets in any age. 

Among the ancients were many circumftances fa- 
vourable to the exertions of genius. They travelled 
much in fearch of learning, and converfed with priefts, 
poets, and phiiofophers. They returned home full 
of difcoveries, and fired by uncommon objects. Their 
enthufiafm was greater ; and few being ftimulated to 
excel as authors, their fame was more intenfe and 
flattering. In modern times good writing is lefs priz- 
ed. We write with lefs effort. Printing has fo mul- 
tiplied books, that affiftance is eafily procured. Hence 
mediocrity of genius prevails. To rife beyond this, 
and to foar above the crowd, is given to few. 

In epick poetry, Homer and Virgil are (till unrivalled; 
and orators, equal to Demofthenes and Cicero, we 
have none. In hifiory, we have no modern narration 
fo elegant, fo picturefque, fo animated, and intereftirig, 
as thofe of Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Livy, 
Tacitus and Salluft. Our dramas, with all their im- 
provements, are inferiour in poetry and fent intent to 
thofe of Sophocles and Euripides. We have no comic 
dialogue that equals the correct, graceful, and elegant 
fimplicity of Terence. The elegies of Tibutius, the 
paftorals of Theocritus,and thelyrick poetry of Horace^ 



ig^ HISTORICAL WRITING. 

are ftill unrivalled. By thofe, therefore* who wifii to 
form their tafte, and nourifh their genius, the utmoil 
attention mud be paid to the ancient clafficks, both 
Greek and Roman. 

After thefe refieftions on the ancients and moderns,, 
we proceed to a critical examination of the mod dif- 
tinguifhed kinds of compofition, and of the charafters 
of thofe writers, whether ancient or modern, who 
have excelled in them. Of orations and publick dif- 
courfes much has already been Said. The remaining 
profe compofitions may be divided into hiftorical writ- 
ing, philosophical writing, epiftolary writing, and fic- 
titious hiftory. 



HISTORICAL WRITING. 



H. 



LISTORY is a record of truth for the instruc- 
tion of mankind. Hence the great requifites in a hi& 
torian are impartiality, fidelity, and accuracy. 

In the conduft of hiftorical detail the firft obje£t of 
ahiftorian Should be, to give his work all poffible 
unity. Hiftory {hould not confift of unconnected 
parts. Its portions fhould be united by fome connect- 
ing principle, which will produce in the mind an im- 
preffion of Something that is one, whole and entire* 
Polybius, though not an elegant writer, is remarkable 
for this quality. 

A hiftorian (hould trace a£Uons and events to their 
Sources. He (hould therefore be well acquainted with 
human nature and politicks. His (kill in the former 
will enable him to defcribe the chara&ers of individu- 
als \ and his knowledge of the latter to account for 



HISTORICAL WRITING. 1 87 

the revolutions of government, and the operation of 
political caufes on pubiick affairs. With regard to po- 
litical knowledge, the ancients wanted fome advantages 
which are enjoyed by the moderns. In ancient times 
there was lefs communication among neighbouring 
ftates 1 no intercourfe by eftablifhed polls, nor by am- 
bafladors at diftant courts. Larger experience too of 
the different modes of government has improved the 
modern hiftorian beyond the hiftorian of antiquity. 

It is however in the form of narrative, and not by 
diflfertation, that the hiftorian is to impart his political 
knowledge. Formal difcufiions expofe him to fufpi- 
cion of being willing to accommodate his fafts to his 
theory. They have alfo an air of pedantry, and evi- 
dently refult from want of art. For reflections* 
whether moral, political, or philofophical, may be infin- 
uated in the body of a narrative. 

Clearnefs, order, and connexion are primary virtues 
in hiftorical narration. Thefe are attained when the 
hiftorian is complete matter of his fubjeft ; can fee the^ 
whole at one view ; and comprehend the dependence 
of all its parts. Hiftory being a dignified fpecies of 
compofition, it fhould alfo be confpicuous for gravity. 
There fhould be nothing mean nor vulgar in the 
ftyle j no quaintnefs, no fmartnefs, no affefitation, na 
wit. A hiftory fhould likewife be interefting ; and 
this is the quality which chiefly diftinguifhes a writer 
of genius and eloquence. 

To be interefting, a hiftorian muft preferve a medi- 
um between rapid recital and prolix detail He fhould 
know when to be concife, and when to enlarge. He 
fhould make a proper fele£tion of circumftances. 
Thefe give life, body, and colouring to his narration* 
They conftitute what is termed hiftorical painting. 



lS& HISTORICAL WRITING. 

In all thefe virtues of narration, particularly in pio 
turefque defcription, the ancients eminently excel. 
Hence the pleafure of reading Thucydides, Livy, Sal- 
luft, and Tacitus* In hiftorical painting there are 
great varieties. Livy and Tacitus paint in very dif- 
ferent ways. The defcriptions of Livy are full, plain, 
and natural ; thofe of Tacitus are fliort and bold. 

One embellifhment, which the moderns have laid a- 
fide, was employed by the ancients. They put ora- 
tions into the mouths of celebrated perfonages. By 
thefe, they diverfified their hiftory, and conveyed 
both moral and political inftru&ion, Thucydides 
was the firft who adopted this method ; and the 
orations with which his hiilory abounds, are valuable 
remains of antiquity. It is doubtful, however, wheth- 
er this embellifhment fhould be allowed to the hiftori- 
an \ for they form a mixture, unnatural to hiftory, of 
truth and fiction. The moderns are more chafte when 
on great occafions the hiftorian delivers in his own 
^trfon thefentiments andreafonings of oppofite parties. 
Another fplendid embellifhment of hiftory is the 
delineation of chara£ters. Thefe are confidered as 
exhibitons of fine writing; and hence the difficulty 
of excelling in this province. For chara&ers may be 
too Alining and laboured. The accomplifhed hiftori- 
an avoids here to dazzle too much. He isfolicitous 
to give the refemblance in a ftyle equally removed 
from meannefs and affectation. He ftudies the gran- 
deur of fimplicity. 

Sound morality fhould always reign in hiftory. A 
hiftorian fhould ever fhow himfelf on the fide of virtue. 
It is not, however, his province to deliver moral in. 
ftru6lions in a formal manner. He fhould excite in* 



HISTORICAL WRITING. I g£ 

cBgnation againft the defigning and the vicious; and 
by appeals to the paffions, he will not only improve his 
reader, but take away from the natural coolnefs of his- 
torical narration. 

In modern times hiftorical genius has fhone moft ifr 
Italy. Acutenefs, political fagacity, and wifdom are 
all confpicuous in Machiavel, Guicciardin, Davila, 
Bentivoglio, and Father Paul In Great-Britain hiito- 
ry has been faihionable only a few years. For, though 
Clarendon and Burnet are considerable hiftorians, they 
are inferiour to Hume, Robmfon, and Gibbon, 

The inferior kinds of hiftorical compaction are an* 
xiah} memcirsi and lives. AnnaU ^re a collection of 
fa£U in chronological orders and the properties of an 
annalift are fidelity and Afftift&nefe. Memoirs aw & 
fpecies of compofition, in which an author pretends not 
to give a complete detail of fa£ts, but only to record 
what he himfclf knew, or was concerned in, or what 
iiluftrates the conducl of fome perfon, or fome tranf- 
action which he choofes for his fubjeft. It is not 
therefore expedied of fuch a writer, that he poffefs the 
fame profound refearch, and thefe fuperiour talents, 
which are requifite in a hiftorian. It is chiefly re* 
quired of him that he be fprightly and interesting, 
The French during two centuries have poured forth & 
flood of memoirs ; the moil of which are little more 
than agreeable trifles. We mud, however, except 
from this cenfure the memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz> 
and thofe of the Duke of Sully. The former join to 
a lively narrative great knowledge of human nature. 
The latter deferve very particular praife. They ap- 
proach to the ufefulnefs and dignity of legitimate hif- 
tory. They are full of virtue and good fenfe t, and are 
well calculated to form both the heads and hearts of 



i(p© PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING? 

fhofe who are defigned for publick bufinefs and higft 
ftations in the world. 

Biography is a very ufeful kind of compofition ^ 
lefs (lately than hiftcry ; but perhaps not lefs inftruo 
tive. It affords fall opportunity of difplaying the char- 
acters of eminent men, and of entering into a thorough 
acquaintance with them. In this kind, of writing. 
Plutarch excels 5 bat his matter is better than his 
manner ; he has no peculiar beauty nor elegance. 
His judgment and accuracy alfo are fometimes taxed. 
But he is a very humane writer, and fond of difplaying 
great men in the gentle lights of retirement 

Before we conclude this fubje&, it is proper to ob- 
ferve, that of late years a great improvement has been 
introduced into historical compofition. More particu- 
lar attention than formerly, has been given to laws, 
cuftoms, commerce, religion, literature, and to every 
thing that fhows the fpirit and genius of nations. It 
is now conceived that a hiftorian ought to illuftrate 
manners as well as fa£ts and events. Whatever dif- 
plays the ftate of mankind in different periods ; what* 
ever illuftrates the progrefs of the human mind, is 
more ufeful than details of fieg.es and battles. 



PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING AND DIA~ 
LOGUE. 

\JF philofophy the profefied defign is inflruc- 
tion. With the philofopher therefore ftyle, form and 
drefs are inferiour objeffcs. But they mud not be whol- 
ly negle&ed. The fame truths and reafonings, deliv- 
ered with elegance, will ftrike more than in a dull 
and dry manner.. 



AND DIALOGUE. 1$& 

Beyond mere perfpicuity, the ftri£teft precifion and 
accuracy are required in a philosophical writer $ and 
thefe qualities may be pofTefled without drynefs. Phi- 
lofophical writing admits a polifhed, neat and elegant 
ftyle. It admits the calm figures of fpeech ; but re- 
jeds whatever is florid and tumid. Plato and Cicero 
have left philofophical treatifes, compofed with much 
elegance and beauty. Seneca is too fond of an affect- 
ed, brilliant, fparkling manner. Locke's Treatife on 
Human Underftanding is a model of a clear and dif- 
tin£t philofophical ftyle. In the writings of Shaftef- 
bury, on the other hand, philofophy is drefled up with 
too much ornament and finery. 

Among the ancients, philofophical writing often af- 
fumed the form of dialogue. Plato is eminent for the 
beauty of his dialogues. In richnefs of imagination 
no philofophick writer, ancient or modern, is equal to 
him. His only fault is the exceffive fertility of his 
imagination, which fometimes obfcures his judgment, 
and frequently carries him into allegory, fiction, en- 
thufiafm, and the airy regions of myftical theology. 
Cicero's dialogues are not fo fpirited and charadterif- 
tical as thofe of Plato. They are however agreeable, 
and well fupported ; andfnow us converfation, carri- 
ed on among fome principal perfons of ancient Rome 
with freedotrij good breeding, and dignity. Of the 
light and humorous dialogue, Lucian is a model ; and 
he has been imitated by feveral modern writers. Fon- 
tenelle has written dialogues, which are fprightly and 
agreeable -^ but his characters, whoever his perfonages 
be, all became Frenchmen. The divine dialogues of 
Dr.Henry More amid the academick ftiffhefs of the age 
are often remarkable for character and vivacity. Bifli* 
op Berkley's dialogues are abftraft, yet perfpicuaus. 



3T$2 FICTITIOUS HISTORY. 



i. 



EPISTOLARY WRITING. 



LN epiftolary writing we expe£l eafe and Famil- 
iarity ; and much of its charm depends on its introduc- 
ing us into fome acquaintance with the writer. Its 
fundamental requifites are nature and fimplicity, 
•fprightlinefs and wit. The flyle of letters, like that 
of con venation, fhould flow eafily. It ought to be 
neat and corre£t, but no more. Cicero's epiftles are 
the moll valuable collection of letters, extant in any 
language. They are compofed with purity and ele- 
gance, but without the leaft affectation. Several let- 
ters of Lord Bolingbroke and of Bifhop Atterbury are 
inafterly. In thofe of Pope there is generally too much 
ftudy ; and his letters to ladies in particular are full 
of affectation. Thofe of Swift and Arbuthnot are 
written with eafe and fimplicity. Of a familiar cor- 
refpondence, the moll accompliihed model are the let- 
ters of Madam de Sevigne. They are eafy, varied, 
lively and beautiful. The letters of Lady Mary Wort- 
ley Montague, are perhaps more agreeable to the epif- 
tolary ftyle, than any in the Englifh language. 



Tt 



FICTITIOUS HISTORY. 



HIS fpecies of compofition includes a very 
numerous, and in general a very infignificant clafs of 
writings, called romances and novels. Of thefe how- 
ever the influence is known to be great both on the 
morals and tafte of a nation. Notwithflanding the bad 
ends to which this mode of writing is applied, it might 
be employed for very ufeful purpofes. Romances and 



FICTITIOUS HISTORY. 193 

novels defcribe human life and manners, and difcover 
the errors into which we are betrayed by the pafiions. 
Wife men in ail ages have ufed fables and fictions as 
vehicles of knowledge ; and it is an obfervation of 
Lord Bacon, that the common affairs of the world 
are irrfufficient to fill the mind of man. He mull 
create worlds of his own, and wander in the regions 
of imagination. 

All nations whatsoever have difcovered a love of fic- 
tion, and talents for invention. The Indians, Perfians, 
and Arabians, abounded in fables and parables. A- 
rnong the Greeks, we hear of the Ionian and Milefian 
tales. Daring the dark ages, ficlion affumed an un- 
ufual form, from the prevalence of chivalry. Ro- 
mances arofe, and carried the marvellous to its fummit. 
Their knights were patterns not only of the moil he- 
roick courage, but of religion, generofity, courtefy and 
fidelity ; and the heroines were no lefs diflinguifhed 
for modefty> delicacy, and dignity of manners. Of 
thefe romances, the mod perfect model is the Orlando 
Furiofo. But as magick and enchantment came to be 
difoelieved and ridiculed, the ehivalerian romances 
were di (continued, and were fucceeded by a new fpe- 
cies of fictitious writing. 

Of the fecond ilage of romance writing, the Cleo- 
patra of Madame Scuderi and the Arcadia of Sir Philip 
Sydney are good examples. In thefe, however, there 
was ftill too large a proportion of the marvellous ; 
and the books were too voluminous and tedious. 
Romance writing appeared therefore in n new form, 
and dwindled down to the familiar novel Interefting 
filiations in real life are the ground- work of novel 
writing. Upon this plan * the Tu-clq huve product 



194 NATURE OF POETRY. 

feme works of confiderahle merit. Such are the Gil 
Bias of Le Sage and the Marianne of Marivaux. 

In this mode of writing, the Englilh are inferiour to 
the French •, yet in this kind there are fome perform- 
ances which difcover the ftrength of the Britifh genius. 
No fi£Uon was ever better fupported than the Ad- 
ventures of Robinfon Crufoe. Fielding's novels are 
highly diftinguilhed for humour and boldaefs of char*» 
adler. Richardfon, the author of Clariffa, is the mod 
moral of all our novel writers ; but he porTefles the 
unfortunate talent of fpinning out pieces of amufement 
into an imrneafurable length. The trivial performan- 
ces which daily appear under the title of lives, adven*. 
tures, and hiilories, by anonymous authors, are moft 
infipid, and, it muft be confeffed, often tend to deprave 
the morals, and to encourage diflipation and idlenefs,. 



NATURE OF POETRY. ITS ORIGIN AND 
FROGRESS. VERSIFICATION. 

W H ATj it may be alked, is poetry ? and how 
does it differ from profe ? Many difput.es have been 
maintained among criticks upon thefe questions. The 
effence of poetry is fuppofed by Ariflotle, Plato, and 
others, to con fill in ficlion. But this is too limited a 
■defcriptio.n. Many think the character! (tick of poetry 
lies in imitation. But imitation of manners and char- 
afters may be carried on in profe as well as in po* 
etry. 

Perhaps the beft definition is this, " poetry is the 
f* language of paffion, or of enlivened imagination, 
fi formed moil commonly into regular numbers." A.$ 



ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. IpJ 

the primary object of a poet is to pleafe and to move, 
it is to the imagination and the pactions that he ad- 
drefies himfelf. It is by pleafing and moving, that he- 
aims toinftru£i and reform. 

Poetry is older than profe. In the beginning of 
fociety there were occafions upon which men met to- 
gether for feafts and facrifices, when mufick, dancing, 
and fon^s were the chief entertainment. The meet- 
ingsof American tribes arediftinguifhed by mufick and 
fongs. In fongs they celebrate their religious rites 
and martial achievements $ and in fuch fongs we trace 
the beginning of poetick compofition. 

Man is by nature both a poet and mufician. The 
fame impulfe which produced a poetick ftyle, prompt- 
ed a certain melody or modulation of found, fuited to 
the emotions of joy or grief, love or anger. Mufick and 
poetry are united in fong, and mutually affift and ex- 
alt each other. The firft poets fung their own verfes. 
Hence the origin of verification, or the arrangement 
of words to tune or melody. 

Poets and fongs are the firft objects that make their 
appearance in all nations. ApoHo, Orpheus and 
Amphionwere the firft tamers of mankind among 
the Greeks; The Gothick nations had their fcalders, 
or poets. The Celtick tribes had their bards. Poems 
and fongs are among the antiquities of all countries ; 
and, as the occafions of their being compofed are 
nearly the fame, fo they remarkably refemble each 
other in ftyle. They comprize the celebration of gods 
and heroes, and victories. They abound in fire and 
enthufiafm ; they are wild, irregular, and glowing. 

During the infancy of poetry, all its different kinds- 
were mingled in the fame compofition •, but in the 



296 ENGLISH VERSIFICATION. 

progrefs of lociety, poems affumed their different reg- 
ular forms. Time feparated into claffes the feverat" 
kinds of poetick compofition. The ode and the elegy r 
the epick poem and the drama, are all reduced to rule,, 
*nd excercife the acutenefs of criticifrm 



ENGLISH VERSIFICATION. 

IN ATIONS, whofe language and pronuncia- 
tion were mufical, reded their verfification chiefly oa 
tlie quantities of their fyllables v but mere quantity 
has very little effect in Englifh verfe. For the differ- 
ence, made between long and fhort fyllables in our 
manner of pronouncing them, is very /inconsiderable. 

The only perceptible difference among our fyllables 
arifes from that ftrong percuiTion of voice which is. 
termed accent. This accent however does not always 
make the fy liable longer, but only gives it more force 
of found •, and it is rather upon a certain order and 
fucceffion of accented and unaccented fyllables, thaq 
upon their quantity* that the melody of our verfe de- 
pends. 

In the conftitutian of our verfe there is another 
eflential circumliance. There is the csefural paufe, 
which falls near the middle of each line. This paufe 
may fall after the fourth, fifth, fixth, or feventh fyila- 
ble j and by this mean uncommon variety and rich- 
nefs are added to Englifh verification. 

Our Engiilh verfe is of lambick ftru&ure, compofed 
of a nearly alternate fucceffion of unaccented and ac- 
cented fyllables. When the paufe falls earlieft, that 
is* after the fourth fyllahle, the briike ft melody is. 



thereby formed. Of this, the following lines from 
Pope, are a happy illuft ration: 

Oa her white bread | a fp at id in? cmfs »lie wore, 
Which Jews might kifs | and infidels adore ; 
Her lively looks | a fprightfy nihid difeiufe, 
(^jick, as her eyes, | and as unhVd as thole. 
Favours to none, |- to all ihe unites extends j 
Oft (lie rejects, ] bat never once offends. 

When the paufe falls after the fifth fyllable, dividing: 
the line into two equal portions^ the melody is fend- 
bly altered 1 . The verfe, foGag the brilk air of the' 
former paufe, becomes more fmooth and flowing. 

Eternal funfhine j of the fpotlefs mind, 

Each prayer accepted, j and each vviilx reilgn'dV 1 

When the paufe follows the fixth fyllable, the mel- 
ody becomes grave. The moyenrent of the verfe is 
more folemu and meafured. 

The wrath of Pe'eus ' 10,1, [-the direful fprtri^ 
Of ail the Grecian woes, I O goddefo, dag, 

The grave cadence becomes ft HI more le alible when 1 
the paufe follows the feventh fyllable. This kind oi 
verfe however feldonv occurs > and its eife:i is to di* 
yerfify the melody. 

And in the fmooth dtfcripttve | murmur flillj 
Long lov'd, ador'd ideaj, j ail adieu. 

Our blank verfe is a noble, bold and diiencumberei 
mode of verification. It is free from the full- clofe 
which rhyme farces upon the ear at the end of every 
couplet. Hence it is peculiarly fuited' to fabjecb of 
dignity and force. It is more favourable than rhyme 
to the fublime and highly pathe tick* It is the mo ;t 
& 2- 



I9§ MSTORA-L POETRY* 

proper for an epick poem and for tragedy. Rhyme 
finds its proper place in the middle regions of poetry j, 
and blank verfe in the higheft. 

The prefent form of our .Englifh heroick rhyme in 
couplets is -modern. The meafure ufed in the days of 
Elizabeth, James, and Charles L was the ft an z a of 
eight lines. Waller was the firft who introduced; 
couplets 5 and DrydeneftabliYhed the ufage.. Waller 
fmooihed our verfe, and Dryden perfected it The 
verfi fication of Pope is peculiar* It. is flowing, £mooth> 
and corre.fit in the higheft 1 degree. He has totally 
thrown afide the triplets fo common in Dryden. In; 
eafe and variety, Dryden excels Pope. He frequently; 
makes his couplets run into one another, with fame-- 
•what of the freedom of blank verfe., 



PASTORAL POETRY. 



ii 



tT was not before men had begun to aiTembie- 
in great cities, and the buftle of courts and large foci— 
sties was known, that paftoral poetry afiumed its- pres- 
ent form. Erom the tumult of a. city life, men look- 
ed back with complacency to the innocence of rural, 
retirement. In the court of Ptolemy, Theocritus 
wrote the firft paftorals with which we are acquaint- 
ed ; and in the court of Auguftus, Virgil imitated him. 
The paftoral is a very agreeable fpecies of poetry.- 
It lays before us the gay and plea fing fcenes of nature. 
It recals obje&s which are commonly- the. delight of 
our childhood and youth. It exhibits a life with which 
we affbciate ideas of innocence, peace and leifure. It.: 
iranfports us into Ely Ran regions, It prefeots many. 



PASTORAL POETRY, 1 99 

objects favourable to poetry; rivers and mountains, 
meadows and hills, rocks and trees, flocks and fhep- 
herds void of care. 

A paftoral poet is careful to exhibit whatever is 
mofl pleafing in the paftoral ftate. He paints its fim- 
plicity, tranquillity, innocence, and happinefs ; but 
conceals its rudenefs and mifery. If his pictures be 
not thofe of real life, they muft refemble it. This is 
a general idea of paftoral poetry* But, to underftand 
it more perfectly, let us confider, 1. The fcenery :: 
2.. The chara£iers ; and laftly, the fubjects it fhould 
exhibit. 

The fcene muft always be in the country y and the 
poet muft have a talent for defcription. In this refpeft, 
Virgil is excelled by Theocritus, whofe defcriptions 
are richer and more piiiurefque. In every paftoral a 
rural profpedt fhould be draw r n with diftin&nefs, It: 
is not enough to have unmeaning groups of rofes and: 
violets, of birds, breezes and brooks thrown together. . 
A good poet gives fuch a landscape as a painter, 
might copy, His objects are particularized. The 
ftream, the rock, or the tree, fo ftands forth as to 
make 'a figure in the imagination, and give a pleat- 
ing conception, of the place where w r e are. 

In his allufions to natural objefts as well as in pro- 
fefled defcriptions of the fcenery, the poet muft ftudy. 
variety* He muft diverfify his face of nature by pre- 
fenting us new images. He muft alfo fuit the fcenery/ 
to the fubje£t of his paftoral •, and exhibit nature un^ 
der fuch forms as may correfpond with the emotions 
and fentiments he defcribesr Thus Virgil, when he 
gives the lamentation of a defpairing lover, commu- 
nicates a gloom to, the fcene*. 



H0& PASTORAL POETRY. 

Tantuni inter dcnfas, umbrofa cacumina, fagos 3 i 
Aflidue veniebat ; ibi hasc incondita foius 
Mont&us etfylvis ftudio ja&abat inaui. 

With regard to the characters in paftorals, it is nod 
fufficient that they be perfo'ns reading iri the country.- 
Courtiers and citizens who refort thither occafionally , 
are not the chara£tirs expected in paftorals. We 
expect to be entertained by ihepherds, or perfons whoU 
ly engaged in rural occupations. The fhepherd mud 
be plain and unaffected in his manner of thinking, 
An amiable fimplicity mult be the ground- work of his 
character *, though there is no neceffity for his being 
dull and infipid. He may have good ferife, and even 
vivacity ; tender and delicate feelings. But he muft 
never deal in general reflections, or ab(tra£t reaibnings , 
nor in conceits of gallantry *, for thefe are confe- 
rences of refinement. When Arntrfta in Taflb is 
difentangling his miftrefs's hair from the tree, to which 
a favage had bound it, he is made to fay u Cruel tree, 
" how couldft thou injure that lovely hair, which diet 
** thee ib much honour ? Thy rugged trunk was not 
M worthy of fo lovely knots. What advantage have 
€i the fervants of love, if thofe precious chains are 
€t common to them and to trees ?" Strained feriti- 
ments, like theie, fuit not the woods. The language of 
rural perfonages is that of plain fenfe and natural feed- 
ing ; as in the following beatiful lines of Virgil ; 

Sepibus in noftris parvam te rofcida mala 
(Dux ego vefter eram) vidi cum matre legentem ; 
Alter abundecimo turn me jam ceperat annus, 
Jam fragilespoterama terra contengere ramos. 
Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abllulit error ! 

The next enquiry is, what are the proper fuhje£is of 
jaftorals ? For it h not enough that the poet g.ive u&> 



FxlSTORAL POETRT. 20 F 

Jfcepherdsdifcourfmg together. Every good poem has 
a fubject that iti fome way interefts us. In this lies 
the difficulty of paftoral writing. The active fcenes of 
country life are too barren of incidents. The condi- 
tion of a (hepherd has few things in it that excite cu~ 
riofity or furprize. Hence of all poems the paftoral is 
mod meagre in fubje£t, and leaft diverGfied in drain. 
Yet this defett is not to be afcribed fblely to barren- 
nefs of fuhje£ts. It is m a great meafure the fault of 
the poet. For human nature and human paflions are 
much the fame in every fituation and rank of life. 
What a variety of objects within the rural fphere do 
the paflions prefent ! The ftruggles and ambition o£ 
fliepherds y their adventures ; their difquiet and felici- 
ty ; the rivalihip of lovers \ unexpected fuccefies and 
difafters j are all proper fubjedfts for the paftoraL 
mufe. 

Theocritus and Virgil are the two great fathers o£ 
paftoral writing. For fimplicity of fentiment, harmo- 
ny of numbers, and richnefs of fcenery, the former is 
highly diftinguithed. But he fometimes defcends to 
ideas that are grofs and mean, and makes his fliep- 
herds abuGve and immodeft. Virgil on the contrary, 
preferves the paftoral fimplicity without any offenfive: 
rufticity. 

Modern writers of paftorals have m general imitat- 
ed the ancient poets. Sannazarius, however, a Latin 
poet, in the age of Leo X* attempted: a bold innova- 
tion, by comppfing pifcatory eclogues, and changing the 
fcene from the woods to the fea, and the character 
from fhepherds to fi mer men. But the attempt was fo 
unhappy that he has no followers. The toilfome 
life of £fhermen has nothing agreeable to prefent. to* 



202 PASTORAL POETRY. 

the imagination. Fifties and marine productions hare 
nothing poetical in them. Of all the moderns, Gef- 
ner, a poet of Switzerland, has been the moft happy 
in paftoral compofition. Many new ideas are intro- 
duced in his Idyls. His fcenery is ftriking, and his 
descriptions lively. He is pathetick, and writes to the 
heart. Neither the paftorals of Pope, nor of Philips, 
do much honour to Englifh poetry. The paftorals of 
Pope are barren $ their chief merit is the fmoothnefs 
©f the numbers. Philips attempted tobemorefim* 
pie and natural than Pope •, but wanted genius to 
fupport the attempt. His topicks, like thofe of Pope, 
are beaten \ and, inftead of being natural or fimple, he 
is flat and infipid. Shenftone's paftoral ballad is one 
of the moft elegant poems of the kind in the Englifb 
language. 

In latter times paftoral writing has been extended 
into regular drama ; and this is the chief improvement 
the moderns have made in it. Two pieces of this, 
kind are highly celebrated, Guarini's Pallor Fido, and 
Taffb's Aminta. Both poflefs great beauties y but the 
latter is the preferable poem, becaufe lefs intricate, 
and lefs affe£ted •, though not wholly free from Italian 
refinement. As a poem, however, it has great merit. 
The poetry is pleafing and gentle, and the Italian lan- 
guage confers on it much of that foftnefs which is 
fuited to the paftoral. 

The Gentle Shepherd of Allan Rarnfay is a paftor- 
al drama which will bear comparifon with any com- 
pofition of the kind in any language. To this admir- 
able poem it is a difadvantage, that it is written in 
the old ruftick dialect of Scotland, which muft foon be 
o.bfolete 5; and it is a farther difadvantage, that it is 



LYRICK POETRY. 203 

formed fo entirely on the rural manners of Scotland, 
that none, but a native of that country, can thoroughly 
underftand and relifh it. It is full of natural descrip- 
tion, and excels in tendernefs of fentiment. The 
chara&ers are well drawn, the incidents affecting, the 
fcenery and manners lively andjuft. 



LYRICK POETRY. 

A HE ode is a fpecies of poetry, which has 
cnuch dignity, and in which many writers in every 
age have diftinguifhed themfelves. Ode in Greek is 
the fame with fong or hymn ; and lyrick poetry implies 
that the verfes are accompanied with a lyre, or mufic- 
al inftrument. In the ode, poetry retains its fir ft form, 
and its original union with mufick. Sentiments com- 
monly conftitute its* fubje£L It recites not s&ions. 
Its fpirit and the manner of its execution mark its 
character. It admits a bolder and more paflionate 
ftrain than is allowed in fimple recital. Hence the 
enthufiafm that belongs to it. Hence that neglect of 
regularity, thofe sdigrefhons, and that diforder, it is 
fuppofed to admit. 

All odes may be claffed under four denominations, 
1. Hymns addreffed to Cod, or compofed on religious 
fubje&s. 2. Hercick odes, which concern the cele- 
bration of heroes and great actions. 3. Moral and 
philosophical odes, which refer chiefly to virtue, 
friendship and humanity, 4. Feflive and amorous 
odes, which are calculated merely for amufement and 
pleafure. 

Enthufiafm being confidered as the charafleriflick 
pf the ode, it has often degenerated into licentioufnefs* 



204 LYRICK POETRY. 

This fpecics of writing has, above all others, been in-' 
fee' ed by want of order, method, and connexion. 
The poet is out of fight in a moment. He is fo ab- 
rupt and eccentrick, fo irregular and obfeure, that we 
cannot follow him. It is not indeed necefiary that the 
ilrucl ure of the ode be fo perfectly regular as the epick 
p.;cn'h But in every compofition there ought to be a 
whole; and this whole fhould confift of connected 
parts. The tranfition from thought to thought may 
be light and delicate, but the conntxion of ideas fhould 
be preferved ; the author fhould think, and not rave, 

Pindar, the father of lyrick poetry, has led his imi- 
tators into enthufiaftick wilcintfs. They imitate his 
diforder without catching his fpirit. In Horace's odes 
•every thing is correel, harmonious, and happy. His 
elevation is moderate, not rapturous. Grace and ele- 
gance are his characlerifticks. He fupports a moral 
fentirftent with dignity, touches a gay one with felici- 
ty, and has the art of trifling moft agieeably. His 
language too is moft fortunate. 

Many Latin poets of later ages have imitated him. 
CaGmir, aPolifh poet of the laft century, is of this 
number ; and difcovers a confiderable degree of orig- 
inal genius and poetick fire. He is, however, far infe- 
riour to the Raman in graceful expreffion. Buchanan 
in fome of his lyrick compositions is very elegant and 
chiliad. 

In our own language, Bryclen's ode en St. Cecilia 
Is well known. Mr. Gray in fome of his ocles is cel- 
ebrated for tendernefs and fublimity ; and in Dodf- 
ley's IViifcelkmies are feveral very beautiful lyrick po- 
ems. ProfeiTedly Pindarick odes are feldcm intelligible. 
Cowley is doubly harfii in his Pindarick competitions. 



5>IDACTICK POETRY. 



His Anacreontick odes are happier, and perhaps the 
moft agreeable and perfect in their kind of all his 
poems. 



DIDACTICK POETRY, 



o, 



'Fdidactick poetry, it is the exprefs intention 
to convey inftru£tion and knowledge. It may be ex- 
ecuted in different ways. The poet may treat fome 
inftru£iive fubje£t in a regular form ; or without in- 
tending a great or regular work, he may inveigh a- 
gainft particular vices, or make fome moral obferva- 
tions on human life and characters. 

The higheft fpecies of didadtick poetry is a regular 
treatife on fome philosophical, grave, or ufeful fubje£h 
Such are the books of Lucretius de Rerum Natura, 
the Georgicks of Virgil, Pope's Eflay on Criticifm, A- 
kenfide's Pleafures of the Imagination, Armftrong on 
Health, and the Art of Poetry, by Horace, Vida, and 
Boileau. 

In all fuch works, as inftru£lion is the profefled 
objeft, tlie chief merit confifts in found* thought, juft 
principles, and apt illuftrations. It is neceflary how*. 
ever that the poet enliven his leflbns by figures, inci- 
dents, and- poetical painting. Virgil in his Georgicks 
embellifnes the moft trivial circumftances in rural life. 
When he teaches that the labour of the farmer miift 
begin in fpring, he exprefies himfelf thus : 

Vcre novo gelidus eanis cum montlbus humor 
Uquitur, et Zephyr o putris fe gleba refolvit ; 
BepreiTo incipiat j. otro 

Ingcmcrc, et fulco atti'l efcerc von 

S 



2©6 mPAcriex poetry- 

In all didadtick works fuch method is requifite, as 
will clearly exhibit a connected train of instruction. 
With regard to epifodes and embellifhments, writers 
of didactick poetry are indulged great liberties. For in 
a poetical performance a continued feries of inftruc- 
tion without dnbellifhment foon fatigues. The di- 
greffions in the Georgicks of Virgil are his principal 
beauties. The happinefs of a country life, the fable 
of Arifteus, and the tale of Orpheus and Bury-dice* 
cannot be praifed too much. 

A didactick poet ought alfo to connect his epifodes 
with his fubject. In this,Virgil is eminent. Among 
modern didactick poets, Akenfide and Armftrongare 
diltinguiflied. The former is rich and poetical \ but 
the latter maintains greater equality, and more chafte 
and correct elegance. 

Of didactick poetry, fatires and epiftles run into the 
molt familiar flyie. Satire feems to have been at 
fir (I a relickof ancient comedy, the groffhefs of which 
was corrected by Ennius and Lucilius. At length, 
Horace brought it into its prefent form. Reforma- 
tion of manners is its profe fled end ; and vice and 
vicious characters are the objects of its cenfure. There 
are three different modes in which it has been con- 
ducted by the three great ancient fatirifts, Horace 
Juvenal, andPerfius. 

The fatires of Horace have not much elevation. 
They exhibit a -rneafured profe. Eafe and grace 
characterize his manner \ and he. glances rather at the 
follies and weakneffes of mankind, than at their vices. 
He fmiles while he reproves. He moralizes like a 
found philofopher, but with the poiitenefs of a cour- 
tier. Juvenal is more declamatory and ferious ; end 



DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 20 7 

lias greater ftrength and fire. Perfius has diftinguifh- 
edhimfelf by a noble and fublime morality. 

Poetical epiftles, when employed on moral or crit- 
ical fubj eels, feldom rife into a higher drain of poet- 
ry, than fatires. But in the epiitolary form, many 
other fubjecls maybe treated ; as love, poetry, or ele- 
giack. The ethical epiftles of Pope are a model •, and 
in them he mows the ftrength of his genius. Here 
he had a full opportunity for difplaying his judgment 
and wit, his conciie and happy expreffion, together 
with the harmony of his numbers, ills imitations of 
Horace are fo happy, that it is difficult to fay, 
whether the original or the copy ought to be molt 
admired. 

Among moral and didaciick writers, Dr. Young 
ought not to be paffed over in filence. Genius appears 
in all his works ; out his Univerfal PafTion may be 
confidered as pofleiling the full merit of that animat- 
ed concifenefs, particularly requifite in fatirical and 
didadtick compofitions. At the fame time it is to b& 
cbferved, that his wit is often too fparkling, and his 
fentences too pointed. In his Night Thoughts there 
is great energy of expreffion, feveral pathetick paf- 
fages, many happy images, and many pious reflec- 
tions. But his fentiments are frequently overftrained 
and turgid^ and the ftyle harm, and obicure. 



DESCRIFIWE POETRY. 



L 



LN defcriptive poetry the higheft exertions of 
genius may be difplayed. In general, indeed, defcrip- 
tion is introduced as an embeilifhment, not as« the 



20 8 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 

fubjeft of a regular work. It is the ted of a poet's' 
imagination, and always diftinguifhes an original from I 
a fecond rate genius. A writer of an inferiour clafs 
fees nothing new or peculiar in the objeft he would 
paint ; his conceptions are loofe and vague ; and his 
expreflions feeble and general. A true poet places an 
obje£t before our eyes. He gives it the colouring of 
life ; a painter might copy from him. 

The great art of pi&urefque defcription lies in the 
fele&ion of circumfiances. Thefe ought never to be 
vulgar or common. They fhould mark ftrongly the 
object. No general defcription is good ; ail diftinft 
ideas are formed upon particulars. There fhould alfo 
be uniformity in the circumftances fele&ed. In de- 
scribing a great object, every circumftance brought for- 
ward fhould tend to aggrandize ; and in defcribing a 
gay objeft, all the circumfiances fhould t$nd to beau* 
tify it. Laftly, the circumftances in defcription fliould 
be exprefied with concifenefs and fimplicity. 

The largefl andfulleft defcriptive performance in 
perhaps any language, is Thomfon's Seafons ; a work 
which pofieiFes very uncommon merit. The fiyle is 
fplendid and ftrong,but Sometimes harfb and indiftinch 
He is an animated and beautiful defcriber ; for he 
had a feeling heart and a warm imagination. He 
ftudied nature with care ; was enamoured of her 
beauties ; and had the happy talent of painting thertv 
like a m after. To fhow the power of a ftngle well- 
chofen circumftance in heightening a defcription, the 
f jllowing paiTage may be produced from his Summer, 
where, relating the effe&s of heat in the torrid zone, 
he is led to take notice of the peftilence that deftroy- 
ed the Englifh fleet at Carthagena, under Admiral 
Vernon. 



DESCRIPTiTE POETRY. ZO{# 

.. , , ■ ■ You, gallant Vernon, faw 
The miferable fcene : you* pitying faw 
To infant weaknefs funk the warriour's arm ; 
Saw the deep racking pang ; the ghaftly form ; 
The lip pale quivering, and the beamlefs eye 
Nomor,e with ardour bright ; you heard the groans 
Of agonizing (hips from fliore to fhore ; 
Heard, nightly plungM amid the fullen waves 
The frequent corfe.— — ■ 

All the circumftances here fele£led tend to height- 
en the difmal fcene ; but the lad image is the mod 
ftriking in the pifture. 

Of defcriptive narration there are beautiful examples 
in Parcel's Tale of the Hermit The fetting forth of 
the hermit to vifit the world, his meeting a compan- 
ion, and the houfes in which they are entertained, of 
the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man, 
are pieces of highly finished painting. But the richeft 
and the rnoft remarkable of all the defcriptive poems; 
in the Englifh language* are the Allegro and the Pen- 
ferofo of Milton. They are the ftore-boufe whence - 
many fucceeding poets have enriched their defcriptions r 
and are inimitably fine poems. Take, for rattance^ 
the following lines from the Penferofo : 



Iwalk, unfeen 



Oil the dry, fmooth-iliaven greeny, 
To behold the wandering moon, 
PJding near her higheft noon ; 
And oft j as if her head fhe bow*d> 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud., 
Oft on a plat of rifing ground 
rhear the far off curfew found, 
Over foine wide watered fhore 
Swinging flaw with folemn rear 5 . 
Gf, if the air will not permit, 
Some ftill removed-place, will fit j, 



2rIQ INSCRIPTIVE POETRY. 

Where glowing embers through the room- 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; ; 
Far from all refort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the hearth, 
Or the bellman's drowfy charm, 
To blefs the doors from nightly harm fe 
Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Befeen in fome high lonely tower, 
Exploring Plato, to unfold. 
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold 
Th' immortal mind, that hath forfook 
Her manfinn in this flcfhy nook ; 
And of thefe demons, that are found. 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground, 

Here are no general 5 expreffions ; all is pi£turefqu@> 
expreffive and concife. One ftrong point of view i& 
exhibited to the reader ; and the impreflipn made, is? 
lively and interefting. 

Both Homer and Virgil excel in poetical descrip- 
tion. In the fecond JEneid, the facking of Troy is fa 
particularly defcribed, that the reader finds himfelf in ; 
the midft of the fcene* The death of Priam is a 
mafter^piece of defcription. Homer's battle* are all 
wonderful. Oflian, too, paints in ftrong colours, and 
is xemarkable for touching the heart. He thus por- 
trays the ruins of Balclutha : " I have feen the walls 
" of Balclutha \ but they were defolate. The fire 
i( had refounded within the halls ; and the voice of 
" the people is now heard no more. The ftream of 
" Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of 
w the v/alls ; the thiftle (hook there its lonely head j, 
€< the mofs whittled to the wind. The fox looked 
4< out of the window ; the rank grafs waved round his 
" head. Defolalfe is the dwelling of Moina. ; fileucc 
41 is in the Ixoufe of her fathers." 



TOE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS; XIV 

Much of the beauty of defcriptive poetry depends 
upon a proper choice of epithets* Many poets are 
often carelefs in this particular ; hence the multitude 
of unmeaning and redundant epithets. Hence the 
" Liquidi Pontes" of Virgil, and the " Prata Canis 
" Albicant Pruinis" of Horace. To obferve that water 
is liquid, and that fnow is white, is little better tham 
mere tautology. Every epithet fhould add a new idea, 
to the word which it qualifier So in Milton \. 

Who fhall tempt with wandering feet 
The dark unbottomed, infinite abyfs ; 
And through the palpable obfcure find out 
His uncouth way ? Or fpread his airy flighty, 
Upborne with indefatigable wings, 
Over the vaft abrupt ? 

The description here is ftrengthened by the epithets, 
The wandering feet, the unbottomed abyfs, the pal** 
pable obfcure, the uncouth way, the indefatigahla 
wing, are all happy exgreffiojas.. 



THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 

IN treating* of the various kinds of poetry, that; 
of the fcriptures juftly. deferves- a place. The facrecP 
books prefent us the molt ancient, monuments of 
poetry now extant, and furnifh a. curious fubje£l of 
criticifm. They difplay the tafteof a remote age and: 
country. They exhibit a fingular> but beautiful fpe- 
cies of compofition ; and it mud give great pleafure 
if we find the beauty and dignity of the ftyle adequate 
to the weight ani importance of the. matter. Dx» 



2>I2 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS; 

ILowthY learned' treatife on the poetry of the Hebrews- 
ought to be perufed by all. It is an exceeding val- 
uable work botlrfbr elegance of ftyle and juftnefs of 
criticifrm We cannot do better than to follow the 
track of this ingenious author. 

Among the Hebrews, poetry was cultivated from 
the earlieft times. Its general conffaru£tion is fingu* 
lar and peculiar. It confifts in dividing every period; 
into correfpondent, for the moll part into equal mem- 
bers, which anfwer to each other, both in fenfe and 
found. In the firft member of a period a fentiment 
is expreffed ; and in the fecond the fame fentiment 
is amplified ; or repeated in different terms, or fome 
times contrafted with its oppofite e Thus, "Sing un- 
u to the Lord anew fong ; fing unto the Lord ail the 
u earth. Sing unto the Lord, and blefs his name •», 
€t fhow forth his falvation from- day to day* Declare 
u his glory among the heathen j his wonders among all; 
" people.'' 

This form of poetical compofition is deduced from 
the manner in which the Hebrews fung their facred 
hymns. Thefewere accompanied with mufick, and 
performed by bands of fingers and muficians, who afc 
ternately anfwered each other. One band began the 
hymn thus : " The Lord reigneth, let the earth • re- 
€l joice ;" and the chorus, or femi-chorus, took up the 
ccrrefponding verficle ", "Let the multitudes of the 
41 ifles be glad thereof. 9 * 

But, independent of its peculiar mode of conftrue* 
tion, the facred poetry is diftinguifhed by the higbeft 
beauties of ftrong, concife, bold, and figurative expref- 
fion. Concifenefs and* ftrength are two of its mod, 
remarkable chara&ers, The fentences are always. 



THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 2IJ 

ftort. The fame thought is never dwelt upon long. 
Hence the fublimity of the Hebrew poetry ; and all 
writers, who attempt the fublime, might profit much, 
by imitating in this refpeft the ftyle of the old te [la- 
ment. No writings abound fo much in bold and an- 
imated figures, as the facred books. Metaphors, com- 
parifons, allegories, and perfonificatrons, are particu- 
larly frequent. But, to relifti thefe figures juftly, we 
muft tranfport ourfelves into Judea, and attend to 
particular circumftances in it. Through all that re- 
gion little or no rain falls in the fummer months* 
Hence, to reprefent diftrefs, frequent allufions are 
made to a dry and thirfty land, where no water is $ 
and hence, to defcribe a change from diftrefs to 
profperity, their metaphors are founded on the fall- 
ing of ftiowers, and the bnrfting out of fprings in a 
defert. Thus in Ifaiah, " The wildernefs and the foli» 
u tary place (hall be glad, and the defert (hall rejoice 
u and bloflbm as the rofe. For in the wildernefs 
" (hall waters break out, and dreams in the def~ 
" ert ; and the parched ground (hall become a pool ^ 
*' and the thirfty land fprings of water ; in the habi- 
u tation of dragons there (hall be grafs, with rufhes 
*' and reeds." 

Coraparifons employed by the facred poets, are 
generally (hort, touchingonly one point of refemblance- 
Such is the following ; <( He that ruleth over men 3 
H muftbe juft, ruling in the fear of God ; and he 
c< fhall be as the light of the morning, when the fun 
"rifeth; even a morning without clouds; as the 
u tender grafs fpringing out of the earth by clear 
u finning after rain." 

Allegory is likewife frequently employed in the fa- 
ffed books; and a. ftne inftance of this occurs in thft 



214 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 

htxxth Pfalm, wherein the people of Ifrael are compar- 
ed to a vine. Of parables, the prophetical writings 
are full ; and, if to us they fometimes appear obfcure, 
we fliould remember that in early times it was univer- 
fally the cuftom among all eaftern nations, to convey 
facred truths under myfterious figures. 

The figure, however, which elevates beyond all oth- 
ers the poetical ftyle of the fcriptures, is perfonifica- 
tion. The personifications of the infpired writers ex- 
ceed in force and magnificence thofe of all other po- 
ets. This is more particularly true when any ap- 
pearance or operation of the Almighty is concerned. 
" Before him went the peftilence. The waters faw 
u thee, O God, and were afraid. The mountains faw 
u thee, and they trembled. The overflowings of the 
f< waters paffed by \ the deep uttered his voice, 
w and lifted up his hands on high." The poetry of 
the fcriptures is very different from modern poetry. 
It is the burft of infpiration. Bold fublimity, not cor* 
re& elegance, is its chara&er. 

The feveral kinds of poetry, found in fcripture, 
are chiefly the dida£tick, elegiack, paftoral, and lyrick. 
The book of Proverbs is the principal inftanee of the 
didaftick fpecies of poetry. Of elegiack poetry, the la- 
mentation of David over Jonathan is a very beautiful 
inftance. Of paftoral poetry, the Song of Solomon is 
a high exemplification ; and of lyrick poetry, the Old 
Teftament is full. The whole book of Pfalms is a 
collection of facred odes. 

Among the compofers of the facred books there is 
an evident diverfity of ftyle. Of the facred poets, the 
mod eminent are the author of the book of Job, Da- 
^id, and Ifaiah. In the compofitions of David there 



EPICK POETRY. 215 

is a great variety of manner. In the foft and tender 
he excels \ and in his Pfalms are many lofty paflages. 
But in ftrength of description he yields to Job \ in Sub- 
limity, to Ifaiah. Without exception, Ifaiah is the 
mod fublime of all poets. Dr. Lowth compares Ifai- 
ah to Homer, Jeremiah to Simonides, and Ezekiel to 
jEfchylus. Among the minor prophets, Hofea, Joel, 
Micah, Habakkuk, and efpecially Nahum, are diftin- 
guifhed for poetical fpirit. In the prophecies of Daniel 
and Jonah there is no poetry. 

The book of Job is extremely ancient ; the author 
uncertain ; and it is remarkable, that it has no con- 
nexion with the affairs or manners of the Hebrews. 
It is the moft defcriptive of all the facred poems. A 
peculiar glow of fancy and ftrength of defcription 
characterize the author ; and no writer abounds fo 
much in metaphors. He renders vifible, whatever he 
treats. The fcene is laid in the land of Uz, or Idu- 
msea, which is a part of Arabia ; and the imagery 
employed differs from that which is peculiar to the 
Hebrews. 



EPICK POETRY. 



Oi 



'F all poetical works the epick poem is the 
moft dignified. To contrive a ftory which is enter- 
taining, important, and inftru£Uv€ ; to enrich it with 
happy incidents ; to enliven it by a variety of char- 
a&ers and defcriptions ; and to maintain a uniform 
propriety of fentiment, and a due elevation of ftylqi 
are the highefl efforts of poetical genius. 

epick poem is the recital of fome iiluftrious en- 
terprise in a poetical form. Ep:ck poetry is of a mor- 



^l6 EPICK POETRY* 

al nature 5 and tends to the promotion of virtue. 
With this view it a£ts by extending our ideas of per- 
fection, and exciting admiration. Now this is ac- 
complifhed only by proper reprefentations of heroick 
deeds and virtuous chara&ers. Valour, truth, juftice, 
fidelity, friendfhip, piety, and magnanimity, are ob- 
jects which the epick mufe prefents to our minds in 
£he mod fplendid and honourable colours, 

Epick compofition is diftinguifhed from hiftory by 
its poetical form, and its liberty of fi&ion. It is a 
more calm compofition than tragedy. It requires a 
grave, equal, and fupported dignity. On feme occa- 
iions it demands the pathetick and the violent ; and 
it embraces a greater compafsof time and a£Uon than 
dramatick writing admits. 

The a&ion or fubjeft of an epick poem rauft have 
three properties. It mud be one ; it muit be great ; 
it muft be interefting. One action or enterprize mud 
conftitute its fubje£t. Ariftotle infifts on unity asef- 
fentiai to epick poetry; becaufe independent fa£ts never 
affe<3: fo deeply, as a tale that is one and connefted. 
Virgil has chofen for his fubje£l the eftablifhment of 
jEneas in Italy ; and the anger of Achilles, with its 
confequences, is the fubje£t of the Iliad. 

It is not however to be underitood* that epick unity 
excludes all epifodes. On the contrary criticks confidev 
them, as great ornaments of epick poetry. They di- 
versify thefubjeft, and relieve the reader by {hitting 
the fcene. Thus He&or's vifit to Andromache in the 
d, and Erminia's adventure with the (hepherd in 
nth book of the Jerufalem, affords us a well- 

iged and pleafing retreat from camps and battles. 

Secondly, the fubje-ft of an epick poem mult be fo 
great an did, as to- fix attention, and to juftify 



EFICK POETRY. 2l>J 

the magnificent apparatus the poet bellows on it. 
The fubject ihould alfo be of ancient date. Both Lu- 
can and Voltaire have tranfgreffed this rule. By con- 
fining himfelf too (trier ly to hiftor : ."al truth, theformer 
does not pleafe \ and the latter has improperly min- 
gled well-known events with fictitious. Hence they 
exhibit not that greatnefs which the epick requires. 

The third requifite in aa epick fubje£l is, that it be 
interefting. This depends in a great meafure upon 
the choice of it. But it depends much more upon the 
fkilful management of the poet. He mud fo frame 
his plan, as to comprehend many affecting incidents* 
He mufl fometimes dazzle with valiant achieve- 
ments ■, fometimes he muft be awful and auguft ; of- 
ten tender and pathetick - 3 and he muft fometimes give 
us gentle and pleafing fcenes of love, friendfnip, and 
affection. 

To render the fubject interefling, much alfo de- 
pends upon the dangers and obftacles which mud be 
encountered. It is by the management of theft, that 
the poet muft roufe attention, and hold his reader in 
fufpcnie and agitation. 

It is generally fappoftd by criucks, that an epick po- 
em (hould conclude fuccefsfully *, as an unhappy .eon* 
mind. Indeed it is en the profV 
: pr c ts genjstajiy conclude. But 
name, Milton and La can, held 
The one concludes with the fuh- 
Lily ; and the other with the ex- 
p.iradife. 

he duration 

10 lefts, ac- 

The adtio.rj 



clufion d( 


^prciles i 


perous He 


e, that e 


two auth 


ers oi gr 


the con.tr 


ivy CQUrl 


vcrfion o; 


Ronaan 


p uliiou o 


i nun: It 


No pre 


ife boui 


of the - 


acTio 


cording : 


me 



2>8 EPICK POETRY. 

of the Odyfley extends to eight years and a half ; and 
that of the JEneid includes about fix years. 

The perfonages in an epick poem fhould be proper 
and well fupportec'. They fhould difplay the features 
of human nature ; and may admit different degrees 
of virtue, and even vice ; though the principal char* 
ackers fhould be fuch as will raife admiration and love. 
Poetick characters are of two forts, general and partic- 
ular. General characters are fuch as are wife, brave, 
and virtuous, without any farther difiinetion. Par- 
ticular characters exprefs the fpecies of bravery, of 
wifdom, and of virtue, for which any one is remarka- 
ble. In this difcrimination of characters, Homer ex- 
cels. Taflb approaches the neareft to him in this are- 
fpect ; and Virgil is the mod deficient. 

Among epick poets it is the practice to felect: feme 
perfonage as the hero of the tale. This renders the 
unity of the fubject more perfect, and contributes 
highly to the interefl and .perfection of the fpecies of 
writing. It has been afked, Who then is the hero of 
Paradife Loft ? The devil, fay fome criticks, who af* 
feet to be pleafant againft Milton. But they miftake 
his intention by fuppofmg that whoever is triumphant 
in the clofe, muft he the hero of the poem. For Ad- 
am is Milton's hero; that is, the capital and- mod in- 
terefling figure in his poem. 

In epick poetry there are befide human characters 
.gods and fupernaturai beings. This forms what is 
called the machinery of epick poetry ; and the French 
fuppofe this effential to the nature of an epick poem. 
They hold that in every epick compofition the main ac- 
tion is neceffarily carried on by the intervention of 
gods. But there feems to be no folid reafon for their 



EPICK POETRY. 2 1$ 

opinion. Lucan has no gods, nor fupernatural agents. 
The author of Leonidas alfo has no machinery. 

But* though machinery is not absolutely nec^flary 
to the epick plan, it ought not to be totally excluded 
frpm it. The marvellous has a great charm for mod 
readers. It leads to fublime defcription, and fills the 
imagination. At the fame time it becomes a poet to 
be temperate in the ufe of fupernatural machinery ; 
and fo to employ the religious faith or fuperftition of 
his country, as to give an air of probability to events 
mod contrary to the common courfe of nature. 

With regard to the allegorical pcrfcnages, fame, 
difcord, love, and the like, they form the worit kind 
©f machinery. In description they may feme-times be 
allowed •, but they (bould never bear any part in the 
action of the poem. As they are only mere names of 
general ideas 3 they ought not to be considered as per- 
fbns 5 and cannot mingle with human aclors without 
an intolerable confuflon of ihadows with realities. 

In the narration of the poet, it is of little coiife- 
quence, whether he relate the whole fiery in his own 
character, or introduce one of his perfonages to relate 
a part of the a£Uon that pafled before the poem opens. 
Homer follows one method in his Iliad, and the other 
in his Odyffey. It is to be obferved however that, if 
the narrative be given by any of the actors, it gives 
the poet greater liberty of fpreading out fuch parts of 
the fubjecl as he inclines to dwell upon in perfon, 
and of comprifing the reft within a fhort recital. 
When thefubje£t is of great extent, and comprehends 
the tranfaelions of feveral years, as in the Ody'fley and 
^Eneidj this method feems preferable. But, when 
the fubjec~l is of final ler compafs and Ihorter duration, 



2 20 HOMERS ILIAR. 



as in the Iliad and Jerufalem, the poet may, without 
difadvantage, relate the whole in his own perfon. 

What is of moft importance in the narration is> 
that it be perfpicuous, animated, and enriched with ev- 
ery poetick beauty. No fort of compotkion requires 
more ftrength, dignity, and fire, than an'epick poem. 
It is the region in which we look for every thing 
fublimc in defcription, tender in feritiment, and bold 
or lively in ex pre (Son. The ornaments of epick poet- 
ry are grave and chaftc.N Nothing ioofe, ludicrous, or 
affected, finds place there. All the objects it pre- 
fents ought to be great, tender, or pleating. Dc- 
fcriptions of difgu fling or (hocking objects are to be 
avoided. Hence the fable of the Harpies in the JEtaekl, 
and tlie allegory of Sin and Death in Paradife Loft, 
fhould have been omitted. 



IIOMZR's ILIAD AND ODYSSEY, 

HP 
jl HE father of epick poetry is Homer; and hi 

@rder to reti'Si him, we mud dived ourfdves of mod- 
ern ideas of dignity and refinement, and tranfport on? 
imagination almoft three thou fand years back in the 
hhlory of mankind. The reader is to expect a picture- 
of the ancient world. The two great characters of 
Homer's u jerry are fire and fimplieity. But > to have 
a. clear idea of his merit, let us conlHer the Iliad un- 
der the three heads of the fubjeci or action*, the char- 
acters and the narration. 

The fubjefl of the Iliad h happily chofen. For no 
fubjeel could be more fplendld than the Trojan wan 
A great confederacy of the Grecian ftatea and ten 



HOMER'S ILIAD. 2~21' 

rears' fiege of Troy mufl have fpread far abroad the 
renown of many military exploits, and given an ex- 
tenfive intereft to the heroes who were concerned in 
them. Upon thefe traditions, Homer grounded his 
poem ; and, as he lived two or three centuries after 
the Trojan war, he had full liberty to intermingle fa- 
ble with Kiftory. He chofe not, however, the whole 
Trojan war for his fubje£t ; but with great judgment 
felecled the quarrel between Achilles and Agamem- 
non, which includes the moft interefting period of the 
war. He has thus given greater unity to his poem, - 
He has gained one hero, or principal character, that 
is, Achilles ; and mown the pernicious effecls of dis- 
cord amonij confederated princes. 

The praife of high invention has in every age been^ 
juftly given to Homer. His incidents, fpeeches, char- 
acters, divine and human ; his battles, his little hifto-- 
ry pieces of the perions fiain, diicover a -b3iind]efs in- 
vention. Nor is his judgment lets worthy of praife,- 
His flory is conduced with great art, lie riles upon 
us gradually. His heroes are introduced with ex* 
quifite (kill to our acquaintance. The diflrefs thick- 
ens as the poem, advances; every thing ferves to ag- 
grandize Achilles, and to make him the capital figure. 
In characters, Homer is without a rival. He abounds 
in dialogue and converfation, andthis produces a fpirit- 
ed exhibition of his perfohages- This drarnatick meth- 
od, however, though more natural, expreffive, and an- 
imated, is lefs grave and majeftiek than narrative. 
Some of Homers fpeechesare unfeafbnable, and oth- 
ers trifling. With the Greek vivacity he has alio feme : 
cf the Greek loquacity. 
X 2- 



222 HOMER's IUAB. 

In no chara£ler perhaps does he difplay greater art, 
than in that of Helen. Notwithftanding her frailty 
and crimes, he contrives to make her an interefting ob- 
ject. The admiration with which the old generals 
behold her when (he is coming toward them ; her 
veiling herfelf and fhedding tears in the prefence of 
Priam ; her grief at the fight of Menelaus •, her up- 
braiding of Paris for his cowardice, and her returning 
fondnefs for him, are exquifite ftrokes, and worthy of 
a great mailer. 

Homer has been accufed of making Achilles too 
brutal a character \ and criticks feem to have adopted 
this cenfure from two lines of Horace : 

Impiger. iracundus, inexorabiiis, acer, 

Jura negat fibi nata ; nihil nou arrogat armis. 

It appears that Horace went beyond the truth. A- 
chilles is paflionate ; but he is not a contemner of 
law. lie has reafon on his fide ; for, though he dif- 
covers too much heat, it muft be allowed that he had 
been notorioufly wronged. Befide bravery and con* 
tempt of death, he has the qualities of opennefs and 
fincerity. He loves his fubje&ts, and refpects the gods. 
He is warm in his friend fhips ; and throughout he is 
high-fpirited, gallant and honourable. 

Horner's gods made a great figure ; but his machine- 
ry was not his own invention. He followed the tra- 
ditions of his country. But > though his machinery is 
often lofty and magnificent, yet his gods are often de- 
ficient in dignity. They have all the human paffions ; 
they drink and feaft, and are vulnerable, like men* 
While, however, he at times, degrades his divinities, 
hz knows how to make them appear with moft awful 



HOMERS ODYSSEY. 22} 

majefty. Jupiter for the mod part is introduced with 
great dignity ; and feveral of the mod fublime con- 
ceptions in the Iliad are founded on the appearances 
of Neptune, Minerva, and Apollo. 

The ftyle of Homer is eafy, natural, and highly ani- 
mated. Of all the great poets, he is the molt fimple 
in his ftyle, and refembles mod the ftyle of the poetic- 
al parts of the Old Teftament. Pope's tranflation of 
him affords no idea of his manner. His verfification 
however is allowed to be uncommonly melodious ; 
and to carry beyond that of any pcet refemblance of 
found to fenfe. 

In narration, Homer is always concife and defcrip- 
tive. He paints his obje£ts in a manner to our fight- 
His battles are Angularly admirable. We fee them 
in all their hurry, terror, and coni'uiion. In Smiles 
no poet abounds fo much. His companions, howev- 
er, taken in general, are not his greater! beauties 5, 
they come upon us in too quick fuceeffion ; and often 
difturb his narration or description. His lions, bulls,, 
eagles, and herds of Iheep, recur too frequently. 

The criticifrn of Longinus upon the OdyiTey is not. 
without foundation ; that in this poem Homer may 
be likened to the fetting fun, whofe grandeur remains 
without the heat of his meridian beams. It wants the 
vigour and fublimity of the Iliad , yet pontiles io many 
beauties, as tobejuftly entitled to high praife. It is 
3 very amufmg poem, and has much greater variety 
than the Iliad. It contains many intereiling ftories. 
and pleafmg pi£lures of ancient manners. Initead of 
the ferocity which pervades the liiad,^ it prefents u& 
mod amiable images of humanity and hofpitality. It 
entertains us with many a wonderful adventure, and 



224 THE; JSNEID OF VIRGlIi. 

many a landfcape of nature ;. and inftrufts-us by '& 
rich vein of morality and virtue, running through ev- 
ery part of the poem. 

There are fome defc&s, however, in the Odyfley' 
Many of its fcenes fall below the. majefly of an epick 
poem. The laft twelve books are in many places lan- 
guid and tedious ; and perhaps the poet is not- happy 
in the difcovery of UlylTes to Penelope. She is too 
cautious and diftruftful ; and we meet not that joyous 
furprize, expected on fuch an occafion. 



THE iENEIO OE VIRGIL. 

►1 HE diflinguifbing excellencies of the JEneid ■■• 
are elegance and tendernefs. Virgil is lefs animated 
and lefs fublime than Homer ; but he has fewer neg- 
ligences, greater variety, and more dignity. The 
JEneidhas all the correttnefs and improvements of 
the Auguftan age. We meet' no contention of he- 
roes about a female flave ; no violent fcolding, nor 
abufive- language; but the poem opens with the uU 
mod magnificence. 

The fubject of the iEneid, which is the eftablifli-* 
rnent of ^Eneas in Italy, is extremely happy. Notic- 
ing could be more interesting to the Romans than 
Virgil's deriving their origin from fo famous a hero 
as iEaeas. The objecT: was fplendid itfelf jit gave 
the poet a theme, taken from the traditionary hiltory 
of his country ; it allowed him to adopt Homer's 
mythology-, and afforded him frequent opportunities- 
of glancing at all the future great exploits of the .Ro- 
mans, and of defcribing Italy in its ancient - and fab^ 
ulous flate. 



THE JENEID OF VIRGIL. 22$ 

Unity of a&ion is perfectly preferred in the iEneid* 
Thefettlement of iEaeas in Italy by order of the gods 
is con (land y kept in view. The epifodes are proper- 
ly linked to the main fubje£t ; and the nodus or in- 
trigue of the poem is happily formed. The wrath of 
Juno, who oppofes iELrieas; gives rife to all his difficul- 
ties, and connefls the human with the celeilial opera* 
tions through the whole poem. 

Great art and judgment are difplaycd in the JEneid* 
but even Virgil is not without his faults. One is, that 
he has fo few marked characters. Achates, Cloanthes, 
Gyas, and other Trojan heroes, who accompanied. 
jSneas into Italy, are undtainguifhed figures. Even 
JEneas himfelf is not a very interefling hero. He is 
defcribed, indeed, as pious and brave \ but his charac- 
ter is not marked by thofe lirokes £hat touch the 
heart. The character of Dido is the beft fupported 
in the whole JEneid. Her warmth of paiTbn, keen-. 
nefs of refentment, and violence of character, exhibit 
a more animated figure than any other Virgil has 
drawn- 

The management of the fuhjecT: alfo is in feme re~ 
fpecls exceprianahle. The nx lad books received not 
the finishing hand of the author ; and for this reafon 
he ordered his poem to be committed to the flames. 
The wars with the Latins are in dignity inferiour to the 
more intereiiing objects previoufly prefented to us \ 
and the reader is tempted to take part with Turnus 
againft iEneas. 

The principal excellency of Virgil, and what he. 
poflefles beyond all poets is tendemefs. His foul was 
full of fenfibiliy. He felt himfelf all the afFe&ing- 
circurnjlances in the fecnes he defcribes % and knevs- 



226 THE .&NEID OF VIRGIL. 

how by a fingle ftroke to reach the heart. In an epick 
poem, this merit is next to fublimity. The fecond 
book of the JEneid is one of the greatefl mafter-pieces 
ever executed.. The death of old Priam, and the fam- 
ily pieces of iEneas, Anchifes, and Creufa, are as 
tender as can be conceived. In the fourth book, the 
unhappy paffion and death of Dido are admirable. 
The interview of tineas with Andromache and He- 
lenus in the third book ; the epifodes of Pallas and 
Evander, of Nifus and Euryalus, of Laufus and rSlc~ 
zentius, are all ftriking inftances of the power of raif- 
ing the tender emotions. The bed and moft finifhed 
books are the firft, fecond, fourth, fixth, feventh, eighth, 
and twelfth. 

Virgil's battles are in fire and fublimity far inferiour 
to Homer's. But in one important epifode, the de- 
fcent into hell, he has outdone Homer in the Odyfiey 
by many degrees. There is nothing in all antiquity, 
equal in its kind to the fixth book of the iSneid. The 
fcenery, the obje£ls, and the defcription, are great, 
folemnand fublime. 

With regard to the comparative merit of thefe two 
great princes of epick poetry, it mull be allowed that 
Homer was the greater genius, and Virgil the more 
correcl writer. Homer is more original, more bold, 
more fublime, and more forcible. In judgment they 
are both eminent. Homer has all the Greek vivaci- 
ty •, Virgil all the Roman ftatelinefs. The imagina- 
tion of Homer is the moft copious ; that of Virgil 
the moll correCt. The ftrength of the former lies, in 
warming the fancy ; that of the latter in touching the 
heart. Homer's ftyle is more fimple and animated - % 
Virgil's more elegant and uniform. 



LUCAN S PHARSALIA. 22? 



LUCAN's PHARSALIA. 

-LUCAN is inferiour to Homer and Virgil ; 
yet he deferves attention. There is little invention 
in his Pharfalia - 9 and it is conduited in too hiftoricai 
a manner to be ftrictly epick. It may be arranged, 
however in the epick clafs, as it treats of great and he- 
roick adventures. The fubject of the Pharfalia has all 
the epick dignity and grandeur ; and it pcfllffes unity 
of object, viz. the triumph of Qefar over Roman lib- 
erty. 

But, though the fubject of Lucan is confeffedly he- 
roick, it has two defects. Civil war prefents objects 
too (hocking for epick poetry, and furnifh odious and 
difgufting views of human nature. But Lucan's ge- 
nius fee trs to delight in favage fcenes. 

The other defect of Lucan's fubject is, that it was 
too near the time in which he lived. This deprived 
him of the afiiftance of fiction and machinery ; and 
thereby rendered his work iefs fplendid and amufing. 
The facts on which he founds his poem, were too 
well known, and too recent to admit fables and the in- 
terposition of gods. 

The characters of Lucan are drawn with fpirit and 
force. But, though Pornpey is his hero, he has not 
made him very interefting. He marks not Pompey 
by any high diftinction, either for magnanimity or val- 
our, He is always furpaffed by Ccefar. Cato, is Lu- 
can's favourite character •, and, whenever he intro- 
duces him, he rifes above himfelf . 

In managing his ftory, Lucan confines himfelf too 
much to chronological order. This breaks the thread 



228 lucan's pharsalia. 

of his narration, and hurries him from place to place. 
He is alfo too digreffive ; frequently quitting his fub- 
je£t, to give us fome geographical defcription, or phi- 
lofophical difquifition. 

There are feveral poetical and fpirited defcriptions 
in the Pharfalia ; but the flrength of this poet does 
not lie either in narration or defcription. His narra- 
tion is often dry and harlh ; his defcriptions are often 
overwrought, and employed on difagreeable objetts. 
His chief merit con fills in his fentiments ; which are 
noble, ftriking, glowing, and ardent. He is the moll 
philosophical, and the moll patriotick poet of antiquity. 
He was a ftoick ; and the fpirit of that philofophy 
breathes through his poem. He is elevated and 
bold j and abounds in well-timed exclamations and 
apoftrophes. 

As his vivacity and fire are great, he is apt to be 
carried away by them. His great defe£l is want of 
moderation. He knows not where to (lop. When 
he would aggrandize his objects, he becomes tumid 
and unnatural. There is much bombafl in his 
poem. His tafte is marked with the corruption of 
his age •, and, inftead of poetry^ he often exhibits 
declamation. 

On the whole, however he is an author of lively 
and original genius. His high fentiments and his fire 
ferve to atone for many of his defects. H is genius 
had ftrength, but no tendernefs, nor amenity. Coo 
pared with Virgil, he has more fire and fublimer fenti- 
ments; but in every thing eK? falls infinitely below him, 
particularly in purity, elegance, and tendernefs. 

Statins and Silius Italic us, though poets of the 
epuk ckus, are tco inconsiderable for particular crit- 
icifrn. 



TASSO'S JERUSALEM. 



TASSG's JERUSALEM. 

JERUSALEM delivered is a ftnclly reg- 
ular epick poem, and abounds with beauties. The 
Subject is the recovery of Jerufalem from Infidels by 
the united powers of Chriftendom. The enterprise 
was fplendid, venerable* and heroick ; and an intereft- 
ing contrail is exhibited between the Chriftians and 
Saracens. Religion renders the Subject auguft, and 
opens a natural field for machinery and Sublime de- 
scription. The action tGO lies in a country, and in a 
period of time, Sufficiently remote to admit an inter- 
mixture of fable with hiitory. 

Rich invention is a capital quality in Taffo. He is 
full of events, finely diverfified. He never fatigues 
his reader by mere war and fighting. He frequently 
fhifts the fcene \ and from camps and battles tranf- 
ports us to more pleating objects* Sometimes the 
folemnities of religion ; Sometimes the intrigues of 
love ; at other times the adventures of a journey, or 
the incidents of paftoral life, relieve and entertain the 
reader. The work at the fame time is artfully con- 
nected j and, in the midfl of variety, there is perfect 
unity of plan. 

Many characters enliven the poem ; and thefe dis- 
tinctly marked and well fupported. Godfrey, the 
leader of the enterprize, is prudent, moderate, and 
brave \ Tailored amorous, generous, and gallant. Ri- 
naldo, who is properly the hero of the poem, is paf- 
fionate and refentful •, but full of zeal, honour, and 
heroifm. Solyman is high minded \ Erminia tender \ 
Armida artful and violent, and Clorinda mafculin** 



23^ TASSO S JERUSALEM. 

In drawing characters, Taflb is fuperiour to Virgil, and 
yields to no poet but Homer. 

He abounds in machinery. When celeftial beings 
iiiterpofe, his machinery is noble. But devils, en» 
chanters, and conjurors aft too great a part throughout 

his poem. In general, the marvellous is carried to ex* 
travagance. The poet was too great an admirer of 
the romantick fpirit of knight-errantry. 

In defcribing magnificent objects, his ftyle is firm 
and majeftick. In gay and pleafing defcription, it is 
foft and infinuating. Erminia's paftoral retreat in the 
feventh book, and the arts and beauty of Arrnida in 
the fourth book, are exquifitely beautiful. His battles 
are animated, and properly varied by incidents. It is 
rather by actions, characters, and defcriptions,that he 
interefis us, than by the fentimental part of his work. 
He is far inferiour to Virgil in tendernefs ; and, when 
he aims at being fentimental and pathetic.k, he is apt to 
become artificial. 

it has been often obje£ied to Tafib, that he abounds 
in point and conceit ; but this cenfure has been car- 
ried too far. For, in his general character, he is maf- 
culine and ftrong. The humour of decrying him pi fl- 
ed from the French criticks to thofe of England. But 
their ftri&ures are founded either in ignorance or 
prejudice. For the JerufahmiS} in my opinion, the 

' third regular epick poem in the world ; and (lands next 
to the Iliad and iEneid. In simplicity and fire Taflb 
is inferiour to Horner, in tendernefs to Virgil; in fub- 
limity to Milion ; but for fertility of invention, vari- 
ety of incidents, expreffion of characters, richnefs of 
description, and beauty of ftyle, no poet, except the 
three jufl named, can be compared to him, 



THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS. 23I 



THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS. 

X HE Portuguefe boaft of Camoens, as the Ital- 
ians do of TaflTo. The difcovery of the Eail-Indies by 
Vafco cle G*ma, an enterprise alike fplendid and in- 
teresting, is the fubjsct of the poem of Camoens. 
The adventures, diftreffd and actions of Vafco and 
his countrymen, are well fancied and defcribed ; and 
the Lufiad is conduced on the epick plan. The inci . 
dents of the poem are magnificent \ and, joined with 
fome wildncfs and irregularity, there is difplayed in it 
much poetick fpirit, flrong fancy, and bold ciefcripttoii. 
In the poem, however, there is no attempt toward 
painting chara&ers. Vafco is the hero, and the only 
plrfonage that makes any figure. 

The machinery of the Luiiad is perfectly extrava- 
gant ; being formed of an odd mixture of Cfariftian 
ideas and Pagan mythology, Pagan divinities appear 
to be the deities ; and Chrilt and the Holy Virgin to 
be inferiour agents. One great object, howerer, of the 
Portuguefe expedition is to extend the empire of 
Chriitianity, and to extirpate Mahometanifm. In this 
religious undertaking the chief protector of the Portu- 
guefe is Venus, and their great adverfary is Bacchus. 
Jupiter is introduced, as foretelling the downfal of 
Mahomet. Vafco during a ftorm implores the aid of 
Chrilt and the Virgin ; and in return to this prayer 
us appears, and. dtfeov^ring the ftoriri to be the 
. of Bacchus, complains to Jupiter, and procures 
tkie winds to be calmed. AH this is mod prepoiter- 
ous ; but, toward the end of his work, the poet offers 
an awkward apology for his mythology \ making the 



232 THE TELEMACHUS OF FENELON. 

goddefs Thetes inform Vafco, that fbe and the other 
heathen divinities are no more than names to defcribe 
the operations of Providence. 

In the Lufiad, however, there is fome fine machine- 
ry of a different kind. The appearance of the genius 
of the river Ganges in a dream to Emanuel king of 
Portugal, inviting him to difcover his fecret fpyiagf, 
and acquainting him that he was the monarch, deftin- 
ed to enjoy the treafures of the Baft, is a happy idea. 
But in the fifth canto, the poet difplays his nobleft con- 
ception of this fort, where Vafco recounts to the king 
of Melinda all the wonders of his voyage. He tells 
him that, when the fleet arrived at the Cape of Good 
Hope, which had never beea doubled before by any 
navigator, there appeared to them fuddenly a huge 
phantom, rifing out of the tea in the midft of tempeft. 
and thunder, with a head that reached the clouds and 
a countenance, that filled them with terror. This was 
the genius of that hitherto unknown ocean \ and he 
menaced them in a voice of thunder for invading thofe 
unknown feas \ foretelling the calamities that were to 
befal them, if they {hould proceed ; and then with a 
mighty noife difappeared. This is a very folemn and 
ftriking piece of machinery ; and (hows that Camoens 
was a poet of a bold and lofty imagination. 



THE TELEMACHTJS OF FENELON, 

XT would be unpardonable in a review of epick 
poets to forget the amiable Fenelon. His work, 
though in profe, is a poem j and the plan in general 



THE TELEMACHtfS OF FENELON. 233 

is well contrived, having epick grandeur and unity of 
a£tion. Reemploys the ancient mythology ; and ex- 
cels in application of it. There is great richnefs as 
well as beauty in his defcriptions. To foft and calm 
fcenes, his genius is more peculiarly fuited ; fuch as 
the incidents of paftoral life, the pleafures of virtue, 
or a country flourifhing in peace. 

His firft books are eminently excellent. The ad- 
ventures of Calypfo are the chief beauty of his work. 
Vivacity and interefl join in the narration. In the 
books which follow, there is lefs happinefs in the exe- 
cution, and an apparrent languor. The author in war- 
like adventures is mo ft unfortunate. 

Some criticks have refufed to rank this work among 
epick poems. Their objection arifes from the minute 
details it exhibits of virtuous policy, and from the dif-- 
courfes of Mentor, which recur too frequently, and too 
much in the drain of common place morality. To 
thefe peculiarities, however, the author was led by the 
defign with which he wrote, that of forming a young 
prince to the cares and duties of a virtuous monarch. 

Several epick poets have defcribed a defcent into 
hell ; and in the profpecls they have given us of the 
invifible world, we may obferve the gradual refine- 
ment in the opinions of men concerning a future flfate 
of rewards and punimments. Horner's defcent of U- 
lyfles into hell is indiftincr, and dreary. The fee ne is 
in the country of the Cimmerians, which is always 
covered with clouds and darknefs ; and, when the 
fpirits of the dead appear, we hardly know whether 
UlyiTes is above or below ground. The ghofis too, 
even of the heroes, appear diflatisfied with their cqu* 
dition. 



234 THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE. 

In Virgil the defcent info hell difcovers great refing* 
ment, correfponding to the progrefs of philofophy. 
The objects are more diftinft, grand, and awful. 
There is a fine defcription of the feparate manfions 
of good and bad fpirits. Fenelon's yifit of Telemachus 
to the fhades is (till much more philosophical thaa 
Virgil's. He refines the ancient mythology by his 
knowledge of the true religion, and adorns it with 
that beautiful enthufiafm, for which he is fo remarka- 
ble. His relation of the happinefs of the juft is an 
excellent defcription in the myflick drain. 



THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE. 

JL HE Henriade is without doubt a regular epic'k 
poem. In feveral places of this work, Voltaire difcov- 
ers that boldnefs of conception, that vivacity and live- 
linefs of expreili on, by which he is fo much diftinguifrw 
ed. Several of his companions are new and happy. 
But the Henriade is not his mafter-pieee. In the tragick 
line he has certainly been more fuccefsful, than in the 
epick. French veifification is illy fuited to epick poetry. 
It is not only fettered by rhyme, but wants elevation. 
Hence not only feeblenefs, but fometknes profaick flat- 
nefs in the ftyle. The poem confequently languishes ; 
and the reader- is not animated by that fpirit which is 
infpiredby a fublime compofition of the epick kind. 

The triumph of Henry IV. over the arms of the 
League is the fubje£l of the Henriade. The aflion of 
the poem properly includes only the fiege of Paris. It 
is an action perfectly epick -, and conducted with due 



warn 



TltE HENRI ADE OF VOLTAIRE. 235 

regard to unity, and to the rules of criticks. But it has 
great defects. It is founded on civil wars ; and pre- 
fents to the mind thofe odious objects, maffacres and 
aflaffinations. It is alfo of too recent date, and too 
much within the bounds of well-known hiftory. The 
author has farther erred by mixing fi£lion with truth. 
The poem, for inftance, opens with a voyage ©f Hen- 
ry's to England, and an interview between him and 
Queen Elizabeth ; though Henry never faw England, 
nor ever converfed with Elizabeth. In fubje£ts of 
fuch notoriety a fiction of this kind (hocks every in- 
telligent reader. 

A great deal of machinery is employed by Voltaire 
for the purpofe of embellifhing his poem. But it is of 
the word kind, that of allegorical beings. Difcord, 
cunning, and love appear as perfonages, and mix 
with human actors. This is contrary to all rational 
criticifm. Ghofts, angels, and devils, have a popular 
exiftence ; but every one knows that allegorical beings 
are no more than reprefentations of human paffions 
and difpofltions ; and ought not to have place, as aft- 
ers, in a poem which relates to human tranfaclions* 

In juftice however it muft be obferved, that the ma- 
chinery of St. Louis poffefles real dignity. The prot 
pe£t of the invifible world, which St. Louis gives to 
Henry in a dream, is the fineft paffage in the Henriade*. 
Death bringing the fouls of the departed in fucceffion 
before God, and the palace of the defttnies opened to 
Henry, are ftriking and magnificent cbjedts. 

Though fome of Voltaire's epifodes are properly ex- 
tended, his narration is too general. The events are 
fuperficially related, and too much crowded. Th<s 
ftrain offentiment, however, which pervades, the Hen- 
Hade, is 1 high and noble. 



%-$6 MILTOnY PARADISE LOST. 



MILTON's PARADISE LOST. 

IVXlLTON chalked out anew and very extra- 
ordinary courfe. As foon as we open his Paradife 
Loft, we are introduced into an invifible world, and 
furrounded by celeftial and infernal beings. Angels 
and devils are not his machinery, but his principal 
attors. What in any other work would be the marvel- 
lous, is in this the natural courfe of events \ and doubts 
may arife, whether his poem be ftrifUy an epick compc— 
fition. But whether it be fo or not it is certainly one 
of the higheft efforts of poetical genius y and in one 
great characleriftick of epick poetry, majefty and fublim- 
ity, is equal to any that bears this name. 

The fubjett of his poem led Milton upon difficult- 
ground. If it had been more human and lefs theolog- 
ical •, if his occurrences had been more connected 
with real life ; if he had afforded a greater difplay of 
the characters and pailions of men ; his poem would 
have been more pieafing to mod readers. His fubjecY 
however was peculiarly fuited to the daring fubiimity 
of his genius. As he alone was fitted for it, fo he 
has mown in the conduit of it a wonderful ftretch of 
imagination and invention. From a few hints given 
in the facred fcripture, he has raifed a regular flruc- 
ture, and filled his poem with a variety of incidents. 
He is fometimes dry and harfh ; and too often the 
metaphyfician and divine. "But the general tenor of 
his work is ir ig, elevated and affecting. The 

artful change of his obje£ts, and the fcene, laid now in 
heaven, now on earth, and now in hell, afford fuffieient 
diverfity y while unity of plan is perfectly fupported. 



milton's paradise lost. 237 

Calm fcenes are exhibited in the employments of Adam 
and Eve in Paradife \ and bufy fcenes, and great ac- 
tions in the enterprizes of Satan, and in the wars of 
angels. The amiable innocence of our firrt parents, 
and the proud ambition of Satan, afford a happy con- 
trail through the whole poem, which gives it an un- 
common charm. But the conclufion perhaps is too 
tragiek for epick poetry. 

The fub; td: naturally admits no great dilplay of 
charafters ; but fuch as could be introduced, are 
properly fupported. Satan makes a ftrikmg figure; 
and is the bed drawn character in the poem. Milton 
has artfully given him a mixed character, not altogeth- 
er void of fome good qualities. He is brave, and 
faithful to his troops* Amid his impiety, he is not 
•without remorfe. He is even touched with pity for 
our firft parents ; and from the necefiity of his ntuation 
juftifies his defign againil them, He is actuated by 
ambition and refentment, rather than by pure malice. 
The characters of Beelzebub, Moloch, and Beliel, are 
well painted. The good angels, though defcribed 
with dignity, have more uniformity of character. A 
mong them, however, the mild condefcenfion of Ra- 
phael, and the tried fidelity of Abdiel, form proper 
chara£teriftick distinctions. The attempt to defcribe 
God Almighty himfelf was too bold, and accordingly 
moft unfuccefsful. The innocence of our firft pa- 
rents is delicately painted. In fome fpeeches perhaps 
Adam appears too knowing and refined for his fi tu- 
ition. Eve is hit off more happily. Her gentlenefs, 
modefty, and frailty, are expreffively characteriftick 0! 
fche female character. 



23 8 milton's paradise lost. 

Milton's great and diftinguifhing excellence is his 
fublimity. In this, perhaps, he excels even Homer. 
The firil and fecond books of Paradife Loft, are al- 
moft a continued feries of the higheft fublime. But 
his fublimity differs from that of Homer ; which is al- 
ways accompanied by impetuoilty and fire. The fub- 
lime of Milton is a calm and amazing grandeur. Ho- 
mer warms and hurries us along; Milton fixes us in a 
ftate of elevation and aftonifli nent. Homer's fublim- 
ity appears mod in his defcription of actions > Milton's 
in that of wonderful and Stupendous objefts. 

But, while Milton excels mod in fublimity, his 
Avork abounds in the beautiful, the pleafing, and the 
tender. When the Ccqxxq is in Paradife, the imagery 
is gay and frniling. His descriptions Show a fertile im- 
agination ; and in his fimiles he is remarkably happy* 
If faulty, it is from their too frequent allufions to mat- 
ters of learning, and to ancient fables. It muft alfo 
be confeffed, that there is a falling off in the latter 
part of Paradife Loft. 

The language and verfification of Milton have high 
merit. His blank verfe is harmonious and diverfiiied j 
and his ftyle is full of majefty. There may be found 
indeed ibme profaick lines in his poem. But in a work 
fo long and fo harmonious thefe may be forgiven. 

Paradife Loft, amid beauties of every kind, has many 
inequalities. No high and daring genius was ever uni- 
formly correct. Milton is too frequently theological 
and metaphyseal ; his words are often technical j and 
he is affe£iedly oftentatious of his learning. Many of 
his faults however are to be imputed to the pedantry 
of his age. He difcovers a vigour, a grafp of genius 



DRAMATICK POETRY. 239 

equal to every thing great ; fometimes he rifes above 
every other poet j and fometimes he falls below him- 
felf. 



DRAMATICK POETRY. TRAGEDY. 



ii 



LN all civilized nations dramatick poetry has 
been a favourite amufement. It divides itfeif into the 
two forms of tragedy and comedy. Of thefe, trage- 
dy is the mod dignified ; as great and ferious objects 
intereft us more than little and ludicrous ones. The 
former reft s on the high paffions, the virtues, crimes, 
and fufftrings of mankind ; the latter on their hu- 
mours, follies, and pleafures $ and ridicule is its fole 
instrument. 

Tragedy is a direct imitation of human manners and 
a£lions. It does not, like an epick poem, exhibit char- 
acters by defcription or narration ; it fets the perfon- 
ages before us, and makes them a£t and fpeak with pro- 
priety. This fpecies of writing therefore requires 
deep knowledge of the human heart ; and, when hap- 
pily executed, it has the power of raifing the ftrongeft 
emotions. 

In its general drain and fpirit, tragedy is favourable 
to virtue. Characters of honour claim our refpeft arid 
approbation , and, to raife indignation, we muft paint 
a perfon in the odious colours of vice and depravity. 
Virtuous men, indeed, are often reprefented by the 
tragick poet as unfortunate ; for this happens in real 
life. But he always engages our hearts in their be- 
half ; and never reprefents vice as finally triumphant 
and happy. Upon the fame principle, if bad men 



240 MLAMATICK POETRY. 

fucceed in their defigns, they are yet finally condu&ed 
to punifhment. It may therefore be concluded that 
tragedies are moral compofitions. 

It is affirmed by Ariftotle, that the defign of tragedy 
is to purge our paffions by means of pity and terror. 
But perhaps it would have been more accurate, to have 
faid, that the obje£l of this fpecies of composition is to 
improve our virtuous fenfibility. If a writer excite our 
pity for the afflicted, infpireus with proper fentiments 
on beholding the viciffitudes of life, and Simulate us 
to avoid the misfortunes of others by exhibiting their 
■errors, he has acconiplifhed all the moral purpofes o£ 
tragedy. 

In a tragedy it is neceffary to have an interefting 
ftory, and that the writercondu£t it in a natural and 
probable manner. For the end of tragedy is not fo 
much to elevate the imagination, as to affe£t the 
heart. This principle, which is founded on the 
cleared reafon, excludes from tragedy all machinery, 
or fabulous intervention of gods. Ghofts alone from 
their foundation in popular belief, have maintained 
their place in tragedy. 

To promote an impreffion of probability, the (lory 
of a tragedy, according to fome criticks, mould never be 
a pure fiction, but ought to be built on real facts. 
This, however, is carrying the matter too far. For \ 
fi&itious tale, if properly conducted, will melt the 
heart as much as real hiftory. Hence the tragick poet 
mixes many fictitious circumftances with well known 
fa£is« Moll readers never think of feparating the hit* 
torical from the fabulous. They attend only to what 
is probable, and are touched by events, that refemble 
nature. Accordingly fome of the mod affecting trag- 



DRAMATIC* POETRY. 24 1 

cdies arc entirely fi£titious in their fubje&s. Such 
are the Fair Penitent, Douglas, and the Orphan. 

In its origin, tragedy was rude and imperfeft. A- 
mong the Greeks it was at firft nothing more than the 
fong which was furrg at the feitival of Bacchus. 
Thefe fongs were fometimes fang by the whole compa- 
ny, and fometimes by feparate bands, anfwering alter- 
nately to each other, and making a chorus. To gu T e 
this entertainment fome variety, Thefpis, who lived a- 
bout five hundred years before the Chriftian era, in- 
troduced a perfon between the fongs, who made a re- 
citation in verfe. JEfchylus, who lived fifty years af- 
ter him, introduced a dialogue between two perfons 
or a£tors, comprehending fome interefting fiory ; and 
placed them on a ftage adorned with fcenerj% The 
drama now began to ailume a regular form 5 and was 
foon after brought to perfection by Sophocles and 
Euripides, 

It thus appears that the chorus wa$ the foundation 
of tragedy. But, what is remarkable, the dramatick 
dialogue, which was only an addition to it, at length 
became the principal part of the entertainment ; and 
the chorus, lofing its dignity, came to be accounted on- 
ly an acceiTory in tragedy. At iaft, in modern trag-, 
edy, it has entirely difappeared $ and its abfence from 
the (tage, forms the chief distinction between the an- 
cient and modern drama. 

The chorus, it mult be allowed, rendered tragedy 
more magnificent, instructive, and moral. But on the 
other hand it was unnatural, and leffened the intereft 
of the piece. It removed the reprefemation from the 
refemblance of life. It has accordingly been with 
propriety excluded from the ftage. 



242 DRAMATICK POETRY. 

The three unities of a£tion, place, and time, have 
been confidered, as effential to the proper condu£t of 
dramatick fable. Of thefe three, unity of a£tion is un- 
doubtedly moft important. This confifts in the rela- 
tion which all the incidents introduced bear to fome 
defign or effeft, combining them naturally into one 
whole. This unity of fubje£l is moft effential to trag- 
edy. For a multiplicity of plots, by di(tra£Ung the at- 
tention, prevents the paffions from rifing to any height. 
Hence the abfurdify of two independent a£tions in 
the fame play. There may indeed be underplots i 
but the poet fiiould make thefe fubfervient to the 
main aftion. They fhould confpire to bring forward 
the cataflrophe of the play. 

Of a feparate and independent aftion, or intrigue, 
there is a clear example in Addifon's Cato. The fub- 
je& of this tragedy is the death of Cato, a noble per- 
fonage, and fupported by the author with much digni- 
ty. But all the love-fcenes in the play ; the paffibn 
of Cato's two fons for Lucia, and that of Juba for 
Cato's daughter, are mere epifodes. They break the 
unity of the fubjeft, and form a very unfeafonable 
junftion of gallantry with high fentiments of patri- 
otifm. 

Unity of action muft not, however, be confounded 
with fimplicity of plot. Unity and fimpiicity import 
different things in dramatick compofition. The plot is 
fimple, wlien a fmall number of incidents is introduc- 
ed into it. With refpeci to plots, the ancients were 
more fimple than the moderns. The Greek trage- 
dies appear, indeed, to be too naked, and defiitute of 
intereilmg events. The moderns admit a much great- 
er variety of incidents j which is certainly an improve- 



DRAMATICS POETRY. 243 

ment, as it renders the entertainment more animated 
and more inftructive. It may, however, be carried 
too far ; for an overcharge of action and intrigue pro* 
duces perplexity and embarraiTment. Of this, the 
Mourning Bride of Congreve is an example. The in- 
cidents fucceed each other too rapidly ; and the cataf- 
trophe, which ought to be plain and fimple, is artificial 
and intricate. 

Unity of action mufl be maintained, not only in 
the general conftruttion of the , fable, but in all the 
a£ts and fcenes of the play. The divifion of every 
play into five a£ts is founded merely on common 
practice, and the authority of Horace : 

Neve minor, neu fit quinto produtftior a<5Ui 
Fabula. 

There is nothing in nature which fixes this rule. 
On the Greek ltage the divifion by a£ts was unknown. 
The word aft never occurs once in the Poeticks of 
Ariitotle. Practice, however, has eftablifhed this di- 
vifion ; and the poet muft be careful that each a£t 
terminate in a proper place. The firft a£t {hould 
contain a clear expofition of the fubjeCt. It (hould 
excite curiofity, and introduce the perfonages to the 
acquaintance of the fpectators. During the fecond^ 
thirds and fourth acts, the plots fhould gradually thick- 
en. The paiiions (hould be kept conftantly awake. 
There (hould be no fcenes of idle converfation or 
mere declamation. The fufpenfe and concern of the 
fpedtators fhould be excited more and more. This is 
the great excellency of Shakefpeare. Sentiment, paf- 
fion, pity, and terror, (hould pervade every tragedy. 

In the fifth act, which is the feat of the cataftrophe. 
the author (hould moft fully difplay his art and genius-.* 



244 BRAMATICK POETRY. 

The firfi requifite is, that the unravelling ©f the plot 
be brought about by probable and natural means, Sec- 
ondly, the cataftrophe fhould be fimple, depending on 
few events^ and including but few perfons. Paffionate 
•fenfibility languishes when divided among many objects. 
Laftly, in the cataftrophe every thing should be warm 
and glowing \ arid the poet mutt be fi tuple, ferious, 
and pathedck; uGng no language but that of nature. 
It is net efTential to the cataftrophe of a tragedy, 
Ithat it end happily, Sufficient diftrefs and agitation,. 
with many tender emotions, may be raifed in the 
eourie of the play, But in general the fpirit of trag- 
edy leans to the fi:!e oi leaving the impreffion of virtu- 
ous fprrc;-w nvongupen the miia& 

A cuviour> quell ion here occurs : How happens it 
rho: the emotions of hffow In tragedy afford gratifr* 
cancr, to the mind ? It (terns tube the confutation of 
©lit nature, that all the (octal paffions ihouid be attend- 
ed with pleafure. Hence nothing is more pleafing 
titan iove a»d friendfkip* Pity is for wile ends a ftrong- 
inftinft ; and it neceflarily produces fome diftrefs on 
account of its fympathy with fufferers.- The heart is 
st the fame moment warmed by kindnefs, and affiifted 
by diftrefs. Upon the whole, the Hate of the mind 
is agreeable. We are pjeafed with oarfelves, not on- 
ly for our benevolence, but for our fenftbility* The 
pain of fympathy is alfo diminifhed by recollecting 
that the diftrefs is not real; and by the power of 
" aft ion and fentiment, of language and poetry. 

After treating of the a£ls of a play it is proper to 
notice the fcenes. The entrance of a new perfon up- 
on the ftage, forms what is called a new fcene. Thefe 
Jcenes, or fucceffive converfations, fhould be clofely 



BRIM ATI CK POETUYV 245. 

connected ; and much of the art of dramatick compo- 
sition confifts in maintaining this connexion. For 
this purpofe two rules rnuft be obferved. 1. During 
the courfe of one aft the ftage fliould never be left 
empty a moment, for this would make a gap in the 
reprefentation. Whenever the ftage is evacuated, the 
aft is clofed. This rule is generally obferved by 
French tragedians ; but it is much neglefted by the 
Englifh. 2. No perfon fhould come upon the ftage, 
or leave it, without feme apparent reafon. If this rule 
be neglefted, the dramatis perfonae are little better 
than fo many puppets; for the drama profeffes imi- 
tation of real tranfaftions. 

To unity of aftion, criticks have added the unities i 
of time and place. Unity of place requires the fcene 
never to be fh if ted ; that the action of the play con* 
thine in the fame place where it began. Unity of 
time, ftriftly taken, requires that the time of the ac- 
tion be no longer than the time allowed for the rep- 
refentation of the play. Ariftotle, however* permits 
the aft ion to comprehend a whole day. Thefe rules 
are intended to bring the imitation nearer to reality. 
Among the Greeks there was no divrfion of afls.- 
In modern times the praftice has prevailed of f uf pend- 
ing the fpeftacle fome little time between the afts. 
This praftice. gives latitude to the imagination, and! 
renders ftrift confinement to time and place lefs necef* 
iary. Upon this account therefore too ftrift an ob- 
fervance of thefe unities (hould not be preferred to • 
higher beauties of execution, nor to the iatroduftion 
of more pathetick fituations. But tranfgre (lions of.' 
thefe unities, though they may be often advantageous,, 
gught not to be too frequent/ nor. violent. Hurrying; 
w. 2 



246 TRAGEDY. 

the fpc&ator from one diftant city to another, or 
making feveral days or weeks pafs during the repre- 
fentation, would fhock the imagination too much, and 
therefore cannot be allowed in a dramatick writer. 

Having examined dramatick a£tion, we fliall now 
attend to the charafters moft proper to be exhibited 
in a tragedy. Several criticks affirm that the nature of 
tragedy requires the principal perfonages to be always 
of high or princely rank 5 as the fufferings of fuch 
perfons feize the heart the moft forcibly. But this is 
more fpecious than folid. For the diftreffes of Def- 
demona, Monimia, and Belvidera, intereft us as much 
as if they had been princeffes or queens. It is fuffi- 
cient, that in tragedy there be nothing degrading or 
mean in the perfonages exhibited. High rank may 
render the fpeciacle more fplendid ; but it is the talc 
itfelf, and the art of the poet, that make it intereft- 
ing and pathetick. 

In defcribing his chara&erg, the poet fhould be 
iareful fo to order the incidents which relate to them, 
as to imprefs the fpe£tators with favourable ideas of 
virtue, and of the divine adminiftration. Pity fhould 
be raifed for the virtuous in diftrefs •, and the author 
fhould ftudioufly beware of making fuch reprefenta- 
tions of life as would render wtue an object of aver- 
Son. 

Unmixed, ciiarp.QerSj either of good or ill men, are 
>iot, in the opinion of Ariftotie, fit for tragedy. For 
the diftreffes of the former, as unmerited, hurt us ; 
and the fufferings of the latter excite no compaffion. 
Mixed charafters afford the beft field for difplaying, 
without injury to morals, the viciffitudes of life. 
They intereft us the moft deeply 5 and their diftreffes, 



are moft inftru£Uve when reprefented as fptinging 
out of their own paffions, or as originating in fome 
weaknefs incident to human nature. 

The Greek tragedies are often founded on mere def- 
tiny and inevitable misfortunes. Modern tragedy aims 
at a higher obje£t, and takes a wider range ; as it 
(hows the direful effects of ambition, jealoufy, love, 
refentment, and every ftrong emotion. But of all the 
paffions which furnifh matter for tragedy, love has 
moft occupied the modern ftage. To the ancient the- 
atre love was almoft unknown. This proceeded from 
the national manners of the Greeks, which encourag- 
ed a greater feparation of the fexes than takes place ia 
modern times ; and did not admit female a £1 or s upon 
the ancient ftage ; a circumftance which operated 
againft the introduction of love-ftories. No folidrea- 
fon, however, can be afligned for this predominancy 
©f love upon the ftage* Indeed it not only limits the 
natural/extent of tragedy, but degrades its majefty. 
Mixing it with the great and folemn revolutions of 
human fortune, tends to give tragedy the air of gallant- 
ry and juvenile entertainment. Without any affift- 
ance from love, the drama is capable of producing its 
higheft effects upon the mind. 

Befide the arrangement of his fubje&, and the con- 
du£fc of his perfonages, the tragick poet muft attend to 
the propriety of his fentiinents. Thefe muft be fuit- 
ed to the characters of the perfons to whom they are 
attributed, and to the fituations in which they are 
placed. It is chiefly in the pathetick parts, that the 
difficulty and importance of this rule are greatefK 
We go to a tragedy, expe£ling to be moved \ and, i£ 
the goct cannot reach the. hearty he has no tragick .raex^ 



24^ TRAGEDY. 

it ; and we return cold and difappointed from the, 
performance. 

To paint and to excite paflion ftrongly, are preroga- 
tives of genius. They require not only ardent fenfi- 
bility, but the power of entering deeply into charac- 
ters. It is here that candidates for the drama are leaf! 
fuccefsful. A man under the agitation of paffion. 
makes known his feelings in the glowing language of 
fenfibility. He does not coolly defcribe what his 
feelings are \ yet this fort of feconclary defcription 
tragick poets often give us inftead of the primary and 
native language of paffion. Thus in Addifon's Cato, 
when Lucia confefies to Fortius her love for him, but 
fwears that (lie will never marry him, Fortius, inftead 
of giving way to the language of grief and aftonifl> 
ment, only defcribes his feelings :. 

Fix'd in aftonifbment,! gaze upon thee, 
Like one juft blafted by a flroke from heaven, 
Who pants for breath, and flifFens yet alive 
In dreadful looks ; a monument of wrath, 

This might have proceeded from a by (lander, or ati 
indifferent peribn ; but it is altogether improper in the 
mouth of Fortius. Similar to this defcriptive language 
are the unnatural and forced thoughts, which tragick 
poets fometimes employ, to exaggerate the feelings of. 
perfons whom they wifh to paint, as ftrongly moved. 
Thus* when Jane Shore on meeting her hufband in 
diftrefs, and finding that he had forgiven her, calls on 
the rains to give her their drops, and to the fprings to 
lend her their ftreams, that fhe may hare a conftant 
fupply of tears ; we fee plainly that it is not Jane 
Shore that fpeaks \ but the poet himfelf, who is -{train-- 



TRAGEDT. 24f 

iRg his fancy, and fpurring up his genius, to fay 
fomething uncommonly ftrong and lively. 

The language of real paffion is always plain and 
fimple. It abounds indeed in figures, that exprefs a 
difturbed and impetuous ftate of mind ; but never em- 
ploys any for parade and embeKifhment. Thoughts, 
fuggeited by paffion, are natural and obvious ; and 
not the offspring of refinement, fubtilty, and wit. 
Paffion neither reafons, fpeculates, nor declaims ; its 
language is fhort, broken, and interrupted. The 
French tragedians deal too much in refinement and 
declamation. The Greek tragedians adhere mod to 
nature, and are moil pathetick. This too is the great 
excellency of Shakefpeare. He exhibits the true lan- 
guage of nature and paffion. 

Moral fentiments and reflections ought not to recur 
rery frequently in tragedy* When unfeafonably 
crowded, they lofe their effect, and convey an air of 
pedantry. When introduced with propriety, they 
give dignity to the compofition. Cardinal Woolfey's 
fol iloquy on his fall is a fine in fiance of the felicity 
with which they may be employed. Much of the 
merit of Addifon's Cato depends on that moral turn. 
of thought which diftinguifhes it. 

The ftyle and verilfication of tragedy mould be free, 
eafy, and varied. Englifh blank ve'rfe is happily fuit- 
ed to this fpecies of compofition. It has fufficient ma- 
jelty, and can defcend to the fimple and familiar ; it 
admits a happier variety of cadence, and is free front 
the comtraint and monotony of rhyme. Of the 
French tragedies it is a great misfortune, that they are 
always in rhyme. For it fetters the freedom of the 
tragick dialogue, fills it with languid monotony, and 
i$ fatal to the power of paffion. 



2$® 4 CREEK TRAGEDY. 

With regard to thofe fplendid comparifons in rhyme 
and thofe firings of couplets, with which it was fome 
time ago fafhionable to conclude the a£h of a tragedy, 
and foinetimes the moil interefting fcenes, they are 
now laid afide, and regarded not only as chiidifh or- 
aarnsnts, but as perfed: barbarifms. 



GREEK TRAGEDY. 



Ti 



HE plot of Greek tragedy was exceedingly 
fimple •, the incidents few ^ and the conduct very 
exact with regard to the unities of action, time, and 
place. Machinery, or the invention of gods, was em* 
ployed ; and, what was very faulty, the final unravel- 
ling was fometimes made to turn upon it. Love, one 
or two inftances excepted, was never admitted into 
Greek tragedy. A vein of morality and religion al- 
ways runs through it ; but they employed lefs than 
the moderns, the combat of the paffions. Their plots 
were all taken from the ancient traditionary ftories of 
their own nation. 

jEfchylus, the father of Greek tragedy, exhibits 
both the beauties and defe£ts of an early original 
writer. He is bold, nervous, and animated ; but very 
obfcure, and difficult to be underftood. His ftyle is 
highly metaphorical, and often harfli and tumid. He 
abounds in martial ideas and defcriptions, has much 
fire and elevation, and little tendernefs. He alfo de- 
lights in the marvellous. 

The mod mafterly of the Greek tragedians is So- 
phocles. He is the mofl correal in the condu£l of 



FRENCH TRAGEDY. 2 J I 

his fubje&9 ; the mod juft and fublimc in his fenti- 
ments. In defcriptive talents he is alfo eminent. 
Euripides is accounted more tender than Sophocles * 
he is fuller of moral fentiments *, but he is lefs corre£k 
in the conduct of his plays. His expofitions of his 
fubjefts are lefs artful ; and the fongs of his chorus, 
though very poetick, are lefs connected with the prin- 
cipal a£Hon, than thofe of Sophocles. Both of them, 
however, have high merit, as tragick poets. Their 
ftyle is elegant and beautiful ; and their fentiments 
for the moft part juft. They fpeak with the voice of 
nature ; and in the midft of fimplicity they are touch- 
ing and interefting. 

Theatrical reprefentation on the ftages of Greece 
and Rome was in many refpe£is very Angular, and 
widely different from that of modern times. The 
fongs of the chorus were accompanied by inftrument- 
al mufick ; and the dialogue part had a modulation of 
its own, and might be fet to notes. It has alfo been 
thought that on the Roman ftage the pronouncing 
and gefticulating parts were fometimes divided, and 
performed by different a£tors. The actors in tragedy 
wore a long robe ; they were raifed upon cothurni, 
and played in mafks ; thefe malks were painted ; and 
the a£lor by turning the different profiles exhibited 
different emotions to the auditors. This contrivance, 
however, was attended by many difadvantages. 



FRENCH TRAGEDY. 

IN the compofitions of fome French dramatick 
writers, tragedy has appeared with great luftre * par- 



25* FRENCH TRAGEDY. 

ticularly Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire. They have 
improved upon the ancients, by introducing more in- 
cidents, a greater variety of paflions, and a fuller dif- 
play of characters. Like the ancients, they excel in 
regularity of conduct \ and their flyle is poetical 
and elegant. But to an Englifh tafte they want 
ftrength and paffion, and are too declamatory and re- 
fined. They feem afraid of being too tragick ; and it 
was the opinion of Voltaire, that to the perfedion of 
tragedy it is neceflary to unite the vehemence and 
a£Uon of the Englifh theatre with the correftnefs 
and decorum of the French. 

Corneille, the father of French tragedy, is diftin- 
guifhed by majefty of fentiment and a fruitful imagi- 
nation. His genius was rich, but more turned to the 
epick than the tragick vein. He is magnificent and 
fplendid, rather than touching and tender. He is full 
of declamation, impetuous and extravagant. 

In tragedy, Racine is fuperiour to Corneille. He 
wants, indeed, the copioufnefs of Corneille ; but he is 
free from his bombafl, and excels him greatly in ten- 
dernefs. The beauty of his language and verfifica- 
tion is uncommon ; and^he has managed his rhymes 
with fuperiour advantage. 

Voltaire is not inferiour to his predeceilbrs in the 
drama \ and in one article he has outdone them, the 
delicate and interefting fituations he has introduced. 
Here lies his chief ftrength. Like his predeceffors, 
however,. he is fometimes deficient in force, and feme- 
times too declamatory. His characters, notwithftand- 
ing, are drawn with fpirit, his events are ftriking, and 
his fentiments elevated. 



■NCLXSX T*A«I0T* 253 



ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 

IT has often been remarked of tragedy hi 
tSreat-Britain, that it is more ardent than that oF 
France, but more irregular and incorrect. It ha*, 
therefore, excelled in the foul of tragedy. For tht 
pathetick muft be allowed to be the chief excellence of 
the tragick mufe. 

The firft obje& on the Englifh theatre, is the great 
Shakefpeare. In extent and force of genius, botk 
for tragedy and comedy, he is unrivalled. But at the 
fame time it is genius (hooting wild, deficient in tafte # 
not always chafte, and unaffifted by art and knowl* 
edge. Criticifm has been exhaufted in commentaries 
upon him •, yet to this day it is undecided, whether 
his beauties or defefls be greateft. In his writings 
there are admirable fcenes and parages without num- 
ber ; but there is not one of his plays which can be 
pronounced a good one. Befide extreme irregulari- 
ties in conduft, and grotefque mixtures of the ferioui 
and comick, we are frequently difturbed by unnatural 
thoughts, harfh expreffions, and a certain obfeure 
bombaft, and play upon words. Thefe faults are # 
however, compenfated by two of the greatefl excel* 
lencies a tragick poet can poffefs, his lively and di- 
verfified painting of character, and his ftrong and 
natural expreffions of paffion. On thefe two virtues 
his merit refts. In the midft of his abfurdities ho 
interefts and moves us ; fo great is his fkill in human 
nature, and fo lively his reprefentations of it. 

He poffeffes alfo the merit of having created for 
himfelf a world of preternatural beings. Hi* witche*) 
x 



254 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 

ghofts, fairies, and fpirits of all kinds, are fo awful, 
myfterious, and peculiar, as ftrongly to affe& the im- 
agination. His two mafter-pieces are his Othello 
and Macbeth. With regard to his hiftorical plays 
they are neither tragedies, nor comedies ; but a pe- 
culiar fpecies of dramatick entertainment, in which he 
defcribes the chara&ers, events, and manners of the 
times of which he treats. 

Since Shakefpeare, there are few Englifh dramatick 
writers, whofe whole works are entitled to high praife. 
There are feveral tragedies, however, of coniiderable 
merit. Lee's Theodofius has warmth and tendernefs, 
though romantick in the plan, and extravagant in the 
fentiments. Otway is great in his Orphan and Venice 
Preferred. Perhaps, however, he is too tragick in 
thefe pieces. He had genius and ftrong paffions, 
but was very indelicate. 

The tragedies of Rowe abound in morality and in 
elevated fentiments. His poetry is good, and his lan- 
guage pure and elegant. He is, notwithftanding, 
too cold and uninterefting ; and flowery, rather than 
tragick. His bed dramas are Jane Shore and the 
Fair Penitent, which excel in the tender and pathetick. 

Dr. Young's Revenge difcovers genius and fire ; 
but wants tendernefs, and turns too much on the 
direful paffions. In the Mourning Bride of Congreve 
there are fine fituations and much good poetry. 
The tragedies of Thomfon are too full of a ftiff 
morality, which renders them dull and formal. His 
Tancred and Sigifmunda is his mafter-piece 5 and for 
the plot, characters and fentiments, juftly deferves 
a place among the befl Englifh tragedies. 

A Greek tragedy is a fimple relation of an intereft- 
irig incident. A French tragedy is a feries of artful 



COMEDY* 25; 

and refined converfations. An Englilh tragedy is a 
combat of ftrong paffions, fet before us in all their 
violence, producing deep difafters, and filling the 
fpe£tators with grief. Ancient tragedies are more 
natural and fimple ; modern more artful and com- 
plex. 



T, 



COMEDY, 



HE drain and fpirit of comedy difcriminate 
it fufRciently from tragedy. While pity, terror, and 
the otherf ftrong pailions form the province of the lat- 
ter, the fole inftrument of the former is ridicule* 
Follies and vices, and whatever in the human charac- 
ter is improper, or expofes to cenfure and ridicule, are 
objecSls of comedy. As a fatirical exhibition of the 
improprieties and follies of men, it is ufeful and moral. 
It is commendable by this fpecies of compofition to 
correct and to polifh the manners of men. Many- 
vices are more fuccefsfuliy exploded by ridicule, than 
by ferious arguments. It is poffible however to em* 
ploy ridicule improperly ; and by its operation to do 
mifchief inftead of good. For ridicule is far from 
being a proper tell of truth. Licentious writers there- 
fore of the comick clafs have often caft ridicule on ob- 
jefts and chara6lers which did not deferve it. But 
this is not the fault of comedy, but of the turn and 
genius of certain writers. In the hands of loofe men, 
comedy will miflead and corrupt ; but in thofe of 
virtuous writers ; it is not only a gay and innocent, 
but a laudable and ufeful entertainment. Englifh 
comedy, however, is frequently a fchool of vice. 



*&* 



25* COMEBY. 

The rules of dramatick action, that were prefcrittti 
for tragedy, belong alfo to comedy. A comick writer 
muft obferve the unities of a£Uon, time, and place. 
He mud attend to nature and probability. The inn- 
fcation of manners ought to be even more exaft in 
comedy than in tragedy ; for the fubje&s of comedy 
2re more familiar and better konwn. 

The fuhje<3s of tragedy are confined to no age 
Ror country ; but it is otherwife in comedy, Forths 
decorums of behaviour, and the nice discriminations 
•f character which are the fubje#s of comedy, change 
with time and country 5 and are never fo well under- 
wood by foreigners, as by natives. We weep for the 
heroes of Greece and Rome ; but we are touched by 
the ridicule of fuch manners and characters only ai 
%c fee and know. The fcene therefore of comedy 
jhc^ld always be laid in the au thorns own country 
?nd age. The comick poet catches the manners living 
.$s they rife. 

ft is true, indeed, that Plautus and Terence did not 
follow this rule. The fcene of their comedies is laid 
in Greece, and they adopted the Greek laws and cuf- 
forns. But it is to be remembered, that comedy was 
in th«ir age a new entertainment in Rome, and that 
they were contented with the praife of tranflating Me- 
oander and other comick writers of Greece. In poftc- 
rior times the Romans had the " Comcedia Togata,* 
©r what was founded on their own manners, as welt 
as the " Comcedia Palliata," which was taken from 
the Greeks. 

There are two kinds of comedy, that of chara£ler, 
and that of intrigue. In the laft, the plot or a£lion of 
^je play is the principal objeft. la the firft, the dif* 



COMEDY. 2^7 

play of a peculiar character is the chief point ; and to 
this the adion is fubordinate. The French abound 
moft in comedies of character. Such are the capital 
pieces of Moliere. The Englifh have inclined more 
to comedies of intrigue. Such are the plays of Con- 
greve ; and in general there is more ftory, action, 
and buftle in Engiiih, than in French comedy. 

The perfection of comedy is to be found in a prop- 
er mixture of thefe two kinds. Mere converfation 
without an interefting (lory is infipid. There fhould 
ever be fo much intrigue, as to excite both fears and 
wiihes. The incidents fhould be ftriking, and afford 
a proper field for the exhibition of character. The 
piece however fhould not be overcharged with in- 
trigue ; for this would be to convert a comedy into a 
novel. 

With refpeft to characters it is a common error of 
Comtek writers, to carry them much beyond real life j 
indeed it is very difficult to hit the precife point, where 
wit ends, and buffoonery begins. The comedian may 
exaggerate ; but good fenfe mull teach him where 
to flop. 

In comedy there ought to be a clear diftin£tion in 
chara£ters* The contraft of characters, however, by 
pairs, and by oppofites, is too theatrical and affe&ed. 
It is the perfection of art to conceal art. A mafterly 
writer gives us his chara£ters, diftinguifhed rather by 
fuch (hades of diverfity, as are commonly found in fo- 
ciety, than marked by fuch oppofitions, as are feldorrs 
brought into actual contraft in any of the c^rcumftan- 
ces of life* 

The ftyle of comedy ought to be pure, lively, and 
•legant, generally imitating the tone of polite convex 
x 2 



a$B ANCIIMT COMEDY. 

fation, and never defcending into grofs expreffions- 
Rhyme is not fuitable to comick compofition ; for what 
has poetry to do with the converfation of men ia 
common life ? The current of the dialogue (hould be 
cafy without pertnefs, and genteel without flippancy* 
Tke wit fhould never be ftudied,nor unfeafonable. 



ANCIENT COMEDT. 

X HE ancient comedy was an avowed fatire a- 
gain ft particular perfons, brought upon the ftage by- 
same. Such are the plays of Ariftophanes ; and 
•ompofitions of fo lingular a nature illuftrate well the- 
turbulent and licentious ftate of Athens. The molt 
xlluftrious perfonages, generals and magiftrates, wer« 
then made the fubje£ts of comedy. Vivacity, fatire, 
and buffoonery are the chara£terifticks of Ariftophanes. 
On many occafions he difplays genius and force, but 
his performances give us no high idea of the attick: 
frafte for wit in his age. His ridicule is extravagant ;. 
his wit farcical ; his perfonal raillery cruel, and biting^ 
and his obfcenity intolerable. 

Soon after the age of Ariftophanes the liberty o£ 
attacking perfons by name on the ftage was prohibit- 
ed by law. The middle comedy then took its rife. 
Living perfons were (till attacked, but under fidlitious^ 
names. Of thefe pieces we have no remains. They 
were fucceeded by the new comedy ; when it became 
as it is now, the bufinefs of the ftage to exhibit man- 
ners and characters, but not thofe of particular per- 
fons. The author of this kind, moft celebrated among 
the Greeks, was M#nander 3 but his writings are pej^ 
iftfdv 



SPANISH COtfEBT. .%$$ 

Of the new comedy of the ancients, the only re- 
gains are the plays of Plautus and Terence. The 
firft is eminent for the vis comica } and for an expref- 
five phrafeology. He bears, however, many marks 
of the rudenefs of the dramatick art in his time. He 
has too much low wit and fcurril-lity ; and is by far 
too quaint and full of conceit. He has more variety 
and more force than Terence \ and his characters 
are ftrongly marked, though fometimes coarfely. 

Terence is poliflied, delicate, and elegant. His 
ftyle is a model of the moft pure and graceful latinity. 
His dialogue is always corre£l and decent, and hi& 
relations have a pifturefque and beautiful fimplicity. 
His morality is in general unexceptionable \ his fix- 
ations are interefting \ and many of his fentiments- 
touch the heart. He may be confidered as the found- 
er of ferious comedy. In fprightlinefs and ftrength 
he is deficient There is a famenefs in his character* 
and plots \\ and he is faid to have been inferiour t<^ 
Menander, whom he copied. To form a perfe£l 
tomick author, the fpirit and fire of Plautus ought t# 
ie united with the grace and corre&neft of Terence 



SPANISH COMEDY. 

JL HE moft prominent obje£t in modern comfc- 
fly is the Spaniflv theatre. The chief ccmedians of 
Spain are Lopez de Vega, Guillen and Calderon. 
The firft, who is the moft famous of them, wrote &** 
bove a thoufand plays ; and was infinitely more irreg- 
mlar than Shakefpeare. He totally difregarded th* 
#ii€€ untties* and every eftablifced rule* of d£a»|t$fc. 



26o FRENCH COMEDY. 

writing. One play often includes many years, and 
even the whole life of a man. The fcene, during the 
firft a£fc is in Spain \ the next in Italy ; and the third 
in Africa. His plays are chiefly hiftorical, and are a 
mixture of heroick fpeeches, ferious incidents, war and 
flaughter, ridicule and buffoonery. He jumbles to- 
gether Chriftianity and Paganifm, virtues and vices, 
angels and gods. Notwithftanding his faults, he pof- 
fefled genius, and great force of imagination. Many 
of his characters are well painted ; many of his fixa- 
tions are happy ; and from the fource of his rich in- 
vention, dramatick writers of other nations have fre- 
quently drawn their materials. He was confcious 
himfelf of his extreme irregularity, and apologized 
for them from the prevailing tafte of his country- 
men. 



FRENCH COMEDY. 

X HE comick theatre of France is allowed to 
be correct, chaflej and decent. The comick author, in 
whom the French glory moft, is Moliere. In the 
judgment of French criticks he has nearly reached the 
fummit of perfection in his art. Nor is this the de- 
cifion of mere partiality. Moliere is the fatirift only 
of vice and folly. His characters were peculiar ta 
his own times ; and in general his ridicule was juftly 
directed. His comick powers were great ; and his 
pleafantry is always innocent. His Mifanthrope, and 
Tartuffe are in verfe, and conftitute a kind of digni- 
fied comedy, in which vice is expofed in the ftyle of 
elegant and polite fatire. In his profe comedies there 



ENGLISH COMEDO. t6l 

h a profufion of ridicule 5 but the poet never gives, 
alarm to modefty, nor cafts contempt on virtue. 
With thefe high qualities however confiderable «lefe£U 
are mingled. In unravelling his plots he is unhappy v 
as this is frequently brought on with too little prepa- 
ration, and in an improbable manner. In his verfe 
comedies he is not always fufficiently interefting, and 
he is too full of long fpeeches. In his rifible pieces La 
profe he is too farcical. But upon the whole it may 
be affirmed, that few writers ever attained fo perfect- 
ly the true end of comedy. Hia Tartuffe ana Avas* 
are his two capital production*. 



ENGLISH COMEDY. 

JL* ROM the English theatre is naturally expe<5l~ 
td a great variety of original characters in comedy,, 
and bolder ftrokes of wit and humour than from any 
other modern ftage. Humour is in fome degree pe- 
culiar to England. The freedom of the government, 
and the unreftrained liberty of Englifii manners, arc 
favourable to humour and (angularity of character. In 
France the influence of a defpotick court fpreads uni- 
formity over the nation* Hence comedy has a more 
amplified and a freer vein in Britain than in France. 
But it is to be regretted, that the comick fpirit of Brit- 
ain is often difgraced by indecency and licentioufnefs. 
The firft age, however, of Englifh comedy was not 
infe&edby this fpirit. The plays of Shakefpeare and 
Ben Jonfon have no immoral tendency. The com~ 
fdi.es of the former difplay a ftrong, creative genius $ 



262 English comei>t. 

but are irregular in conduct They are Angularly rich 
in characters and manners ; but often defcend to pleafc 
the mob. Jonfon is more regular, but (tiff and pe* 
dantick -, though not void of dramatick genius. Much 
fancy and invention, and many fine paflages, are found 
in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. But m gen- 
eral they abound in romantick incidents, unnatural 
chara&ers and coarfe allufions. 

Change of manners has rendered the comedies of 
the lafl: age obfolete. For it is the exhibition of pre- 
vailing modes and characters, that gives a charm to 
comedy. Thus Plautus was antiquated to the Ro- 
mans in the days of Auguftus. But to the honour of 
Shakefpeare, his Falftaff is ftill admired, and his Mei nr 
Wives of Windfor read with pleafure. 

After the re deration of Charles II thelicentioufi 
which polluted the court and nation, feized upon com- 
edy. The rake became the predominant character 
Ridicule was thrown upon chaftity and fobriety. 
the end of the play, indeed, the rake becomes a fober 
man ; but through the performance he is a fine gen- 
tleman, and .exhibits a pi£ture of 1 the pleafurable en- 
joyments of life. This fpirit of comedy had the v 
effect on youth of both fexes, and continued to the 
days of George II. 

In the comedies of Dryden there are many ftrokes 
of genius ; but he is hafty and carelefs. As his obje£t 
was to pleafe, he followed the current of the times, 
and gave way to indelicacy and licentioufnefs. His 
indecency was at times fo grofs, as to occafion a pro- 
hibition of his plays on the ftage. 

After Dryden flourifhed Cibber, Vanburgh, Far- 
quhar and Congreve. Cibber has fprightlinefs and a 



ENGLISH COMEDY. 263 

pert vivacity ; but his incidents are fo forced and un- 
natural, that his performances have all funk into ob- 
fcurity, excepting the CarelefsHufband and The Pro- 
voked Hufband. Of thefe the firft is remarkable for 
the eafy politenefs of the dialogue ; and is tolerably- 
moral in its conduct. The latter, in which Cibber 
was affifted by Vanburgh, is perhaps the beft comedy in 
the Englifh language ; and even to this it may be ob- 
jected that it has a doubleplot. Its chara&ers how- 
ever are natural, and it abounds with fine painting and 
happy ftrokes of humour. 

Wit,, fpirit, and eafe, characterize Sir John Van- 
burgh 1 but he is the mod indelicate and immoral of 
all our comedians. Congreve undoubtedly poflefled, 
genius* He is witty and fparkiing, and full of char- 
acter and aftion. Indeed he overflows with wit \ for 
it is often introduced unfeafonably ; and in general 
there is too much of it for well bred converfation. 
Farquhar is a light and gay writer 5 lefs correct and 
lefs brilliant than Congreve -, but he has more eafe, 
and much of the vis comica* Like Congreve he is 
licentious -, and modefty mull turn from them both 
with abhorrence. The French boaft with juftice of 
the fuperiour decency of their ftage, and fpeak of the 
Englifh theatre with aftonifhent. Their philofophi- 
cal writers afcribe the profligate manners of London to 
the indelicacy and corruption of Englifli comedy. 

Of late years a fenfible reformation has taken place 
in Englifh comedy. Our writers of comedy now ap- 
pear afhamed of the indecency of their predeceiTors. 
They may be inferiour to Farquhar and Congreve in 
fpirit, eafe, and wit 5 but they have the merit of being 
far more innocent and moral 



3§4 ftNGLlSH COMEDY. 

To the French ftage we are much indebted for this I 
reformation. Theintrodu&ion within a few years of 
a graver comedy in France, called the ferious or tender f 
comedy, has attracted the attention and approbation 
of our writers. Gaiety and ridicule are not excluded 
from this fpecies of comedy ; but it lays the chief 
ftrefs on tender and interefting fituations. It is fenti- 
menta'l, and touches the heart. It pleafes not fo much 
by the laughter it excites, as by the tears of afFe£tion 
and joy which it draws forth. 

This form of comedy was oppofed in France, as a* 
tmjudifiable innovation. It was objc£led by critick* 
that it was not founded on laughter and Tidicule ; 
but it is not neceflary that all comedies be formed 
,on one precife model. Some may be gay; fame fe- 
rious ; and fome may partake of both qualities. Se- 
rious and tender comedy has no right to exclude gaiety 
and ridicule from the ftage. There are materials for 
both ; and the ftage is richer for the innovation. In 
general it may be considered as the mark of increafing 
politenefs and refinement, when thofe theatrical exhi- 
bitions become fafhionable, which are free from indel- 
icate fentiments and an immoral tendency* 



?f Jff I* 



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